Rio Blanco on the Mouth of Hell
by Ironbear
Summary: "It started out as a simple evening at home. A pair of movies fresh from blockbuster, a 52" plasma screen TV, and thou. Oh, and the 'thou' braless in a skimpy bandanna top and a stretchy mini-skirt thing that just begged for a hot makeout session... "
1. Prologue: All the Good Things in Life -

"**Rio Blanco on the Mouth of Hell"**

**A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Western**

_by Ironbear_

* * *

"_Judd, that man rode into town trailin' three corpses. He just accounted for two more – and it ain't even _noon_ yet. _You_ arrest him._" – Gunsmoke, To the Last Man

**Story Blurb:** "It started out as a simple evening at home. A pair of movies fresh from blockbuster, a 52" plasma screen TV, and thou. Oh, and the 'thou' braless in a skimpy bandanna top and a stretchy mini-skirt thing that just _begged_ for a hot makeout session... "

**Title:** "Rio Blanco on the Mouth of Hell"

**Author:** Ironbear

**Rating:** PG-13. Maybe R in places, if I get inspired. Possibly X. (Plot? What plot? There was a plot here somewheres, once... ) Seriously. There's full frontal nudity. And full backal nudity. Violence. And language. And Adult Situations before fading to black. Bow-chicka-wow-wow music. You figger out the rating. FR-21 for TtH, just to be safe.

**Disclaimer:** Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series and characters thereof belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Warner Brothers, 20th Century Fox, and Kazui Entertainment. Everyone else belongs to their respective owners, except for my own original characters. And hey – I'm not greedy about _them_. Rio Bravo belongs to Warner Bros., Howard Hawks, Jules Furthman and Leigh Brackett, and is based on a short story by B.H. McCampbell. Silverado belongs to Columbia Pictures, Delphi III Productions, and Lawrence and Mark Kasdan. An additional and more detailed list of disclaimers will be listed in the Afterword.

For those of you reading this on Fanfiction dot net, where they frown on lyrics: the intro song is "Rainbow Blues" by Blackmore's Night, and the closing/credits tune is "Show Me the Way" by Styx and Dennis de Young, slightly filked by Yours Truly.

This is a work of derivative fiction. All persons, characters, names, places, locations, entities, personages, and/or deities contained within are purely fictional, or fictional representations thereof, and any resemblance to any real persons, characters, names, places, locations, entities, personages, and/or deities are purely coincidental, or they are used in a purely fictional manner.

**Summary:** What started out as a simple and enjoyable Friday evening at Cordelia's house, watching movies and making out, takes a sudden and very strange turn when Ethan Rayne gets involved...

**Type:** Romance and Action/Adventure.

**Genre:** Western and Horror/Fantasy

**Chronology:** Between BtVS seasons 2 and 3 (the summer between seasons); the Western takes place around eight to ten years after Rio Bravo, and just prior to the official founding of Sunnydale.

**Pairings:** Cordelia Chase and Xander Harris

**Author's Note(s):** This is a crossover idea that I don't believe I've ever seen anyone even _attempt_ before. But once the plot bunny hopped into my mind, it just wouldn't leave 'til it done chewed up all the scenery...

* * *

_Dedicated to:_

_Leigh Brackett, who wrote the original scripts for Rio Bravo, El Dorado, and Rio Lobo – among many of the inspirations for this fic and the characters and situations. And Kurosawa, who inspired the Magnificent Seven – another of the inspirations my plot bunny chewed on..._

_And to the memory of Janet Kagan, whom I think might have enjoyed parts of this. Hell, who might be enjoying it now, if she's reading over my shoulder from wherever she currently dwells in the Summer Country..._

_Rest ye gentle, and sleep ye sound._

* * *

**Preface and Foreword: ****That Stuff in the Front**

"_Westerns are closer to art than anything else in the motion picture business.__"_ ― John Wayne

And now, for a few quick words from our sponsors...

Err, from the _author_, dammit. I _wish_ we had sponsors – it'd help pay my rent while I write.

Welcome to the set of Rio Blanco on the Hellmouth: the unofficial and unauthorized sequel to Rio Bravo. I'd better list it as "unauthorized". Me, I'm egotistical enough to think I did a pretty fair job of working in the spirit of the original, but Howard Hawks and Wayne might be rolling in their graves right now, and plotting my eternal torments when I show up by the fires. Kurosawa is probably sharpening his katana.

Oh well. Heaven for ambiance; Hell for company. Can't always expect the company to be happy when you show up. ;)

As I noted in the disclaimer, as far as I'm aware, this may well be the only Buffy-verse crossover of its kind. Definitely the only finished one I've yet seen. The primary crossover is Rio Blanco, with slight elements of Quigley Down Under. The secondaries are Silverado and The Magnificent Seven, as one or two of the main characters from each play a prominent part here, albeit under slightly different names.

And there's a host of others at least _mentioned_, even if not outright crossed in.

Purists will note that I took more than a few liberties with both casting, names, and backgrounds in this story. I will freely and cheerfully admit that wherever needed, I outright swiped characters and dialogue from just about any and every appropriate Western that came to mind, filed off the serial numbers, and bashed to fit and filed to hide. And did judicious – and not so judicious – editing and pastiche of names and backgrounds to give the resulting characters something at least resembling coherent histories for the universe in which I've dropped them.

Anyone who's even close to being as big a Western movie, novel, and television aficionado as I am will probably recognize all of the players.

For those who aren't, there's an expanded list of credits and discredits at the end, in the Afterword. And a cast list.

Purists may _also_ note that I took a few liberties with inventing cartridges and firearm manufacturers that didn't exist in the real Old West. Wah. My Cinematic universe, my rules, and I'll play with it as fast and loose as I want to. Neener-neener.

Quite a few old favorites from the Buffy-verse show up here also, albeit in different guises. Have fun playing "Where's Waldo" – I know I did.

Not gonna eat up a lot of verbiage on Authorial Notes here. You guys are here for the story, dammit, not my ramblings. Feel free to scroll past all this crap and get to the Prologue.

Just one last quick note: My esteemed beta reader and editor, Samantha, has pointed out to me that effectively, I've written a techno-thriller on horseback, with a lot of period specific jargon that readers might not be familiar with. I don't fully agree: I think it's action-adventure in a Western setting, myself. But – it _can't_ be denied that the Old West, shooting, and gun-fighting, are just like say, computers, aviation and aeronautics, and sailing, or fanfiction, for that matter: they have a rich and specialized language of jargon and technical-ese that's grown up in and around them. Jargon that might not make sense to outsiders...

So, in the interests of saving on a lot of "Huh? What _dafuq_ did I just read?", I'm appending a brief glossary of some of the terms used at the end of Chapter One.

Hopefully, readers will find it helpful and it won't be _too_ obtrusive.

I'm pretty sure my love for the genre will shine through. Damn, but I'd love to have done a cover image for this. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any appropriate Cordy and Xander pics, and while I'm a better than fair 3-D artist, my photo manipulation skills suck rocks.

On to the show. Hope y'all enjoy reading as much as I did writing. And now that it's done, _I'm_ off to work on other stories while you're having at it.

Damn, but it's _good_ to be back. ;)

Ironbear

And now... on to the story!

* * *

.

**Prologue: All the Good Things in Life -**

* * *

"_One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that _he_ is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

_Friday, July 17, 1998 – Evening:_

Alexander "Xander" Harris put the video tape into the VCR and went back to sit down next to his girlfriend.

Heh. Cordelia's parents were out of town for the weekend – again, those two traveled more than some airliners – and he and she had the place to themselves now that the maid and housekeeper had gone. A pair of movies fresh from Blockbuster, a 52" plasma screen TV, and thou. Oh, and the 'thou' braless in a skimpy bandanna top and a stretchy mini-skirt thing that just _begged_ for a hot make out session.

It just don't _get_ better than that. He grinned. Ok, well, maybe if Buffy wasn't still missing, but hey – can't have everything.

"What are _you_ grinning at, Doofus?" Cordelia looked at him with more curiosity than annoyance as he settled back.

"Oh... " Xander waved toward the TV, and waggled his eyebrows at her. "Movies, house to ourselves, and a really hot looking you. Just thinking it don't get much better."

"Ah." Cordelia nodded. "And I _suppose_ you have designs on this situation?" she arched her eyebrows at him meaningfully.

"Well, yeah, actually."

"Oh. Ok," Cordelia said, nodding. "Well, since you put it that way... " she settled back into the couch with her legs curled up under her and leaned into him. "All right, so – what's for movies?"

"Ah. Continuing your edgimication in the true classics of American cinematic history," Xander said. He leaned forward to snag the remote off the coffee table, picking up the two video tape boxes while he was at it.

"Oh, jeeze." Cordelia snorted, and rolled her eyes. "More? Seriously – you expect to get past first base, you're gonna have to come up with something other than _Westerns_, Dork."

"Hey – you _liked_ Big Jake and Silverado last weekend," Xander said. "Double feature: _'__Rio Bravo__'_, which is not just 'a Western' but _The_ Western, and _'__Rio Blanco__'_, the sequel."

"Geeze, again? So – what's with your Duke fixation?" Cordelia said. But her tone was teasing this time. She frowned, "Oh, hey – wait. Rio Blanco? My grandmother is in that."

"Oh, really?" Xander raised his eyebrows and looked at the back of the box, trying to figure out who she meant.

"Yeah. Rachel Westin," Cordelia said, nodding and leaning over to look at it with him. "See?" She pointed.

Xander's eyebrows went even higher. "Wow. Your grandmother is Rachel _Westin_?"

"Well," Cordelia said, making a vague gesture. "_Step_-grandmother, actually. Granddaddy's second wife. But she divorced him before I was born... I've only met or even seen her a few times."

"Ok, cool," Xander said, looking impressed. "I mean, I've seen those _'Ballad of Josie Welles'_ and _'50,000 Years B.C.'_ posters in your bedroom, but... "

"Well, now you know," Cordelia said, smirking. "I didn't realize there was a movie of hers I _hadn't_ seen. She's kind of my inspiration for wanting to be an actress."

Xander smiled and hit 'Play' on the remote, after setting the video boxes back on the coffee table. He leaned back and put his arm around her.

Cordelia faked a yawn, and broke away from the snuggle position, stretching. And watching sidelong as Xander's eyes glued themselves to the movement of her bare breasts under the bandana top.

Men. _So_ very predictable. And generally, so easily controlled...

A couple of hours later, she found she'd actually enjoyed Rio Bravo, a lot more than she'd thought she would. Not that she'd tell Xander that. Not good to have _too_ much enthusiasm about his dorkness's geekier interests. Um, assuming Westerns _were_ geeky. Were they?

"That was actually... not _too_ horrible," Cordelia said, bouncing up from the sofa.

"Um, hummana?" Xander blinked, his eyes glued to the jiggle. Cordelia smirked inwardly.

Let's see him think about Willow or Buffy _now_, she thought.

"Ah." Xander shook his head, recovering. "So, you liked?"

Cordelia thought for a moment, then nodded. "Not bad. Even if we _did_ miss half of it."

"Naw." Xander smirked. "I hit pause during the steamy make-out session breaks."

"Oh? Wow. You're smarter than you look," Cordelia said, grinning down at him. "But, then, you'd _have_ to be."

"Har har." Xander said, snickering. "You a funny guy, for a girl. You wound me with your words."

"You'll get over it," Cordelia said. "Ok. Bathroom break, and then I'll put some more popcorn in the microwave. _You_ set up for the next one."

Xander nodded. "Aye aye, Captain. After I hit the little Xander's room." He stood also, stretching and smiling at her.

"You know where it is by now."

* * *

They headed their separate ways, temporarily. Cordelia resisted an urge to rub her still hard nipples. And ignored her tingly other parts. Damn, but that boy could _kiss_.

She wondered where the hell he learned that? Not like he'd ever had _that_ much opportunity for practice, outside of demon girls trying to eat or kill him.

And having to take over leading the summer's slaying, with Buffy run away after sending her gone evil boyfriend to hell, wasn't doing badly for his confidence, either. She kind of liked the changes in him.

And he looked pretty salty in those black 'Nighthawk' fatigues, too. Didn't suck.

She paused, hand on the microwave door handle while waiting for it to ding., thinking. This weekend might not be a bad time to ratchet things up to the next level, maybe. Not like they'd have much chance for it otherwise, before school started. Not with her parents coming back Monday to stay for a bit, and her leaving with them second weekend in August for a month in Mexico.

And returning _just_ before senior year started, damn it.

Too bad she couldn't beg off from _that_ little family outing. _Daddy_ wouldn't mind, but Mother... her _step-__mother_ would have a very genteel _cow_.

Mother had _already_ had one of _those_ along with a very genteel snit over her inviting Xander up to their lake house at Lake Cachuma earlier this summer, for a four day Fourth of July weekend of riding and, uh, more riding. Or something like.

If Mother had discovered the steamy after lights out make out sessions with everything _but_ sex once her and Daddy had fallen asleep, that cow would have become a whole _herd_. Cordelia grinned to herself. Maybe a whole cattle drive, complete with lynching.

Ding!

She took out the popcorn and dumped it in a bowl, putting in another bag to microwave.

After that one dinged, she nuked some butter to pour over it and carried it back into the family room.

"Ok, where were we." Cordelia set the bowl down on the coffee table, within easy reach.

Xander waggled his eyebrows at her, smirking. "About to hit third base?"

Cordelia snorted. "You wish, Doofus." Oh, if only he knew... She settled in next to him, snuggling into his side and pulling her legs up under her.

"Man can dream," Xander said, sighing. He aimed the remote at the VCR. "About ready to go for the Second Feature, then, I think."

"Ah. Yeah, that would be it."

* * *

.

_City Hall, Sunnydale – the same time:_

Mayor Richard Wilkins the Third (and Second, and the First as well) looked at the dapper Englishman standing on the other side of the desk from him, and smiled.

"Well, have a seat," Wilkins said, gesturing to the comfortable guest chairs before the desk. "Please. I'd offer you a cigar," he paused for a beat. "...but then I don't smoke."

There were chuckles from Alan Finch, the Deputy Mayor, and Trask, his... assistant. Alan's chuckle sounded a bit nervous.

"No problem, I assure you," Ethan Rayne said, taking a seat and adjusting the crease in his trouser leg. "Smoking is overrated, anyway, Mr. Wilkins."

"Filthy habit," Wilkins said, his tone of voice agreeable. And pleasant – he always strove to be pleasant.

After all, you could kill more flies with honey and a flyswatter, than with a flyswatter alone... "So. What do you have for me?" Wilkins asked. "And do, please, call me Dick. All my friends do."

"Ah. As you wish, Richard," Ethan said, smirking. "I am a bit curious about one thing, if I might ask?"

"Certainly," Wilkins said, inclining his head in permission. "Ask."

"Why those two individuals in particular? The Harris boy and Ms. Chase, I mean?" Ethan asked, his tone and expression genuinely curious. "While I would be loathe to enact something that would do genuine harm to dear Rupert, he is a Watcher, as such, much more dangerously knowledgeable of the supernatural. And the little redhead is training as a witch, I believe – yet her and her lycanthropic paramour were specifically not mentioned in our arrangement, I note."

Wilkins' other assistant, the lean, dapper Mr. Trask, leaned forward, fixing Rayne with a beady eyed stare. "We _do_ have other means at our disposal for dealing with them," Trask said, his tone quiet and menacing, "_none_ of which you have an actual need to know, Mr. Rayne."

"Now, now, Mr. Trask," Richard Wilkins said, in a chiding tone of voice. "Ethan has posed some excellent and perceptive questions." Wilkins frowned slightly, adding, "A bit too perceptive, perhaps, but that's no reason for us to be uncivil in our responses."

"As you say, Mr. Mayor," Trask said, leaning back in his seat.

Shrugging, Wilkins fixed Rayne with an amiable expression. "As my associate notes, we _do_ have other resources for dealing with those individuals. _Not_ that I anticipate requiring their services, you understand. However... at the moment, Rupert Giles is obsessed with his efforts to locate the missing Ms. Summers, rendering his rather formidable skills a moot point. And Ms. Rosenberg and Mr. Osbourne are non combatants and hardly formidable in their own right – Ms. Rosenberg can barely levitate a pencil, my observers inform me, and her magic is unreliable at best. Mr. _Harris_, however, is both motivating and leading their efforts to pick up the, ah, 'slaying slack', I believe they're calling it." Wilkins chuckled and spread his hands. "He is also the only one with any semblance of combat and tactical skills – no small thanks to you, I might add. Remove him and the group falls apart before it really hits its stride."

"Ah. I see... " Ethan nodded, and then frowned slightly. Raising his eyebrows, he asked, "And the cheerleader? Ms. Chase hardly seems to be any kind of threat, major or otherwise. Well, unless one is managing a clothing boutique, of course. Or her father's credit card company." He chuckled at his own small joke.

Wilkins chuckled back, but politely and perfunctorily, with slightly less mirth. "I strongly suspect that you may be unfairly discounting Ms. Chase."

"Oh?" Ethan gave Wilkins an inquiring look, "How so?"

"Ms. Chase is not nearly the vapid ingenue that most take her for," Wilkins said, smiling. "On the contrary – she is apparently a very intelligent, arrogant, and strong willed young lady. And one who, while she's had a mild slump in that area, is extremely popular and influential at Sunnydale High School. One whom, also, I am informed, is _very_ infatuated with young Mr. Harris."

"Yes?" Ethan leaned back in his seat, raising a bent leg and clasping his intertwined fingers around his upraised knee. "So?"

"So - eliminating her love interest while leaving her _might_ just cause her to turn all of that intelligence, arrogance, perception, and possibly rebuilt influence to the ends of carrying on her young fellow's legacy and wishes while avenging him upon the supernatural populace," Wilkins said. "Not to mention that, suitably motivated, she might turn not only her immediate family's resources upon that problem, but _also_ her extended family's. And possibly even Mr. Harris' rather irascible Uncle."

"Hrmm... " Ethan frowned again, and then nodded. "Oh, of course. Her grandfather: William Randolph Chase the Second. My apologies, I hadn't made the association with those particular Chases until you mentioned it."

Wilkins nodded, still smiling genially.

Trask shrugged and interjected, "So, elementary tactics: remove them both, preferably unobtrusively and mysteriously, and their entire group collapses."

Ethan nodded. "I see," he said, "Well... merely idle curiosity on my part. I really have no personal interest in the fates of any of them, except for possibly Rupert's. Only _professional_ interest in what I have been contracted to accomplish."

"And _speaking_ of your professional interest?" Wilkins raised his eyebrows inquiringly, and made a 'please continue' gesture.

"Ah. Of course," Ethan said, smiling. "Well, as per the terms of our contract, I _have_ been somewhat busy of late."

"Meaning?" Alan Finch asked, glancing at the Mayor nervously.

"Ah. Quite elegantly and viciously simple a thing, actually," Ethan said, smirking. "Your associate," he gestured to Trask, "has observed a habit of young master Harris frequently renting videos from a certain blockbuster near his home before wending his way to his young paramour's. But a simple matter to slip two of my own video tapes – specially prepared of course – into the racks he normally peruses. With a compulsion enchantment to make certain they draw his eye and his interest."

Ethan smiled, adding, "Always _so_ very much easier to _add_ something to a store, rather than to shoplift something away from them."

"And... ?" Mayor Wilkins raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"And?" Ethan blinked, then his expression cleared. "Oh, yes, quite," he said. "There's a second, milder compulsion on one of the videos to make certain – subtly – that they choose to watch it this evening And _that_ one, my friends, has an enchantment designed to transport them into the world of whatever film they're watching, with suitable additions and editing to fit their presence, mindset, and expectations."

"Hrmm." Wilkins drummed his fingers on the desktop, thinking. Steepling his fingers before him, he frowned. "That's it?"

"Well, yes. Of course," Ethan said. "That should be more than amply sufficient, actually."

"Hrmm." Wilkins frowned. "You know, earlier during the just ended school year, I paid you a rather princely sum," he deliberately mocked Rayne's distinctive British diction and accent, " to make certain that the Slayer and her friends were included in your little costume drama, in the interests of removing her from my area of influence. And even got Principal Snyder to make certain they'd be by to rent or purchase costumes, with a nudge toward your shop."

"Well, yes. I do recall that," Ethan said. "And Ms. Summers and her associates were included, as I recall."

"Um hmm," Wilkins said. "However, they were _not_ removed. Despite my influencing that Spike fellow to make certain of the Slayer's removal." He held up a hand, forestalling any comment or objection from Rayne. "_Not_," he said, "Entirely your fault. Spike simply wasn't up to the task, apparently. And, not really a bad thing, all in all. Summers and her friends did prove very useful in putting an end to the Judge, and later that Angelus business. Thanks in no small amount to your costuming influence, I'm given to understand."

Ethan nodded, looking puzzled. "My understanding as well. I fear I am failing to see the issue here."

"The issue, my good man," Wilkins said, leaning forward slightly, his fingers once again steeled before him, "Is that now that Buffy Summers has removed herself, I do not need a group of amateur demon hunters mucking about and making themselves a nuisance. I believe that it's time for my associates to take over handling any difficulties that arise, and that there be no one extraneous around to possibly interfere with my plans for next summer."

Trask smirked, and his faced changed, revealing him to be a vampire. "I believe," he said, "that what our esteemed Mayor is saying is that he wants Mr. Harris and Ms. Chase dead – for certain. Not merely lost in a dream world."

"O-or... possibly surviving despite your e-ef-forts," Alan Finch said, nervously. He worked at his tie, loosening the knot.

"Ah. I see," Ethan nodded, giving Wilkins a level, even look. Straight in the eye: Richard Wilkins liked that in a hireling. "I'm afraid that there's been a slight misunderstanding. I am a _chaos_ mage, not a mere assassin, Dick."

Wilkins held up a hand in a stop gesture. "I believe we're back to Mr. Mayor, now, Ethan," he said, pleasantly.

"Ah. Quite so. _Mister_ Mayor, then," Rayne said. "There _are_ no guarantees in chaos magic, Mister Mayor. Especially not when one of the subjects has already been touched by Janus, previously. If it is _certainty_ you wanted, you should have contracted with the Terrakans."

Mayor Wilkins stood and moved casually around the desk, Rayne watching his every move without giving any appearance of doing so. Skilled man, in more than one art. He placed a hand on Rayne's shoulder, standing behind his seat.

Leaning forward, Wilkins said, quietly, "In the future... I'd be _very_ careful about suggesting to me what I _should_ or should _not_ do, Mr. Rayne."

Nodding to himself at the very slight, almost imperceptible start that the chaos mage gave, Wilkins moved back around and sat on the edge of his desk, facing Rayne. He clapped his hands together and said, smiling, "Now. Anyone up for a root beer float? _Do_ tell me more about this non-guaranteed enchantment, Ethan."

* * *

Xander slowly came to himself, as though waking up from a drugged fog of some sort.

To find himself up on the crest of a hilltop, looking down on a dirt road some several hundred yards below, with a cloud of dust off in the distance to his right. Approaching.

Up on the crest of a hilltop, wearing a dark brown duster, a hat, and a gun-belt.

Sitting atop a _horse_.

From beside and slightly to the rear of him, he heard an incredulous gasp, followed by Cordelia's strident, near panicked sounding voice. "Just what the _hell_ did you _do_, Xander?"


	2. Oh Don't Let Me Get Those Rainbow Blues

**Chapter One: Oh,** **D****on't ****L****et ****M****e ****G****et ****T****hose ****R****ainbow ****B****lues...**

* * *

"_It's only a matter of knowing how to shoot a gun. Nothing big about that.__"_ ― Chris Adams (The Magnificent Seven)

* * *

.

_July 17, __18__98 – Morning:_

From beside and slightly to the rear of him, he heard an incredulous gasp, followed by Cordelia's strident, near panicked sounding voice.

"Just what the _hell_ did you _do_, Xander?"

"Me?" He turned in the saddle – _saddle_, how freaky is that? – and looked at her incredulously. "What the hell did _I_ do?"

"_That's_ what I asked _you!_" Cordelia practically shouted at him. Apparently the volume of her own voice startled her, as she looked around nervously and lowered it to a harsh stage whisper. "_You're_ the one that got us on this... _Westerns_ kick. And now we're... we're- we're... " she trailed off, looking bewildered. "Oh, crap."

Sigh. Xander swung down off his horse, easily. Heh. Funny how you never lose some things. He went to Cordelia's mount – her own Palomino Moriesian1, he noticed, and held his arms up to her.

"Here. Come down, Cordy," Xander suggested, his voice gentle. It wasn't every day he saw Cordelia Chase in a near panic, and he'd gotten a bit more solicitous of her welfare over the summer.

Besides. He was near to full on gibbering panic himself. He could just imagine what _she_ felt like.

She glared at him for an endless moment, then her face crumpled and she threw a leg over the saddle and slid out of it, landing with a thump of boots and a flounce of riding skirts in front of him. He caught her up and folded her in and just held her for long moments.

Kuneau stayed ground tied, of course. As did his own mount, one of the Chase's big dappled gray Warlanders – the one he'd liked during the Fourth of July weekend trip, he noted.

Of _course_ they did. All of Randall Chase's horses were painstakingly – and _expensively_, no doubt – well trained. Mr. Chase wouldn't have it any other way.

Closing his eyes, he just held Cordelia and soaked in the smell, feel, and shape of her for long minutes. Something solid and reassuring, in a world gone suddenly weirder than normal, even for Sunnydale.

And _that_, my fine friend, was saying a _lot_.

_'Yup,'_ a Still Small voice in the back of his head said. _'Takes a hell of a lot to out weird Sunnydale.'_ Still Small sounded an awful lot like Dennis Leary...

"Dammit." Cordelia sighed, finally, and pushed back away from Xander. "I suppose," she said, sounding reluctant, "It's not _your_ fault."

"Gee, thanks ever so for the vote of confidence, honey," Xander said. He grinned when that got him the patented Cordelia Chase smile and a solid thump on the chest with a small fist.

Ok, so it was a weak and watered down version of the thousand watt smile that had launched a million late night fantasies. But it _was_ there, in 100 watt form or no.

"Oh, you know what I meant," she said. "Hey! I know. It's a dream! We fell asleep watching my Grandmom and we're dreaming. Or I am."

"And we're both having it?" Xander raised his eyebrows.

"Well... Ok, _I'm_ dreaming. _You're_ a figment."

"Heh. I'm thinking... not."

"Oh, be quiet," Cordelia said. She took her thumb and forefinger and pinched herself on the other forearm. _Hard_. "ow!"

Xander winced in pure sympathy.

"Crap." Cordelia deflated, looking suddenly lost again.

"Sorry, Cordy. I really am," Xander said, holding his hands spread out. "But if this is a dream, we're both having it. Or it's like that thing last year with the kid having contagious nightmares."

He shuddered at that idea. Gunslinger clowns. Just say not only no, but Oh _Hell_ No.

Xander watched as his girlfriend slowly absorbed the, err, reality of the situation, and just as slowly came to apparent terms with it.

Wow. His girlfriend. Cordelia _Chase_, his girlfriend. _His_. Equal amounts of terrifying, freakish, and giddy in that statement.

His girlfriend, proving once again why it was that he was slowly coming to the conclusion he was starting to fall in love with her. Cordelia took a deep breath, let it out, and raised her eyes to his. She raised her chin, stuck it out, squared her shoulders – and gave a firm nod.

"All right." Cordelia smiled at him again, a bit closer to normal intensity. "So. Where the hell are we, Doofus? And what do we do about it?"

"That's my girl," Xander said, smiling back.

He then looked around, taking stock. Two horses, with another three ground hitched back a little ways down the rise, below the crest. Not the military crest. They were silhouetted up here against the skyline.

Oh well. Too late for that – they hadn't had any choice in the matter.

In addition to his big dapple gray, and Cordy's palomino, there was a tall, black saddle blanket pattern Appaloosa stud that he remembered had just a touch of Andalusian and a liberal splash of Friesian in him. Rasputin, that was it. And the dapple gray was... Rembrandt.

Plus a tall – like, seventeen hands two – black-brown Moriesian who's name he couldn't remember, with black mane, nose, tail, and stockings. And a baroque built bay with probably a splash of draft in her, judging from the fetlocks. All wearing the Rocking "C" of the Chase ranch.

One of the rearward ones wore a pack saddle. The other two were unsaddled and wearing only halters and lead reins. Obviously part of a small... whatchacallit. Remuda – that was it. The two they'd been on had saddles, a black, Australian snowy river saddle on his, and the trooper saddle Cordelia liked on Kuneau.

Both had rifle scabbards, with the butt of a second rifle jutting up from beyond the saddle on his, apparently scabbarded on the other side, grip forward.

Appropriate clothes. Cordelia was wearing a split riding skirt in dark blue, and black and rattlesnake, pointed toed, high heeled Tony Lama boots, or what looked like. With a white blouse, a matching dark blue vest, and a black hip length drover's coat. Oh, and a black Stetson, with her hair tied back in a pony tail.

She looked just plain edible.

He had on the dark brown, ankle length drover's coat he'd noted before, with the chausses – leg straps – snapped around his lower thighs for riding. Dark brown harness style trooper boots, with khaki colored jeans and a tan shirt. And, he took it off to check, a flat brim, dark brown Aussie hat of the style Jessie used to like. Rolled unevenly at the edges, and with the front and back brim folded downward, and wearing the creases and scars of long use. With a silver and snowflake obsidian band –

Hell, it could almost _be_ Jesse's hat. He replaced it almost reverently, and made sure the braided chin string was almost snugged up by the little silver arrowhead slip holder.

And they both had gun-belts...

Cordelia wore what looked like one of those old style Smith & Wessons in a cross-draw holster. A Tom Threepersons rig, his mind supplied from somewhere, with a longer barreled version of the same in a high ride holster on the right, both with stag grips. And, she had a backup handgun, a bird's head gripped storekeeper model Colt SAA in the purse slung from her saddle tie, his mind also supplied.

He... he had a pair of handguns, in a tied down double holster rig. One butt to the rear for a normal draw, one, a much longer barreled one, butt forward for a right hand draw on the left side. Big ivory handled Bowie in a scabbard on the left side just behind the holster. With a pair of skinning and hunting type knives in the boot tops.

He drew the right hand pistol, thumbing the hammer back to half cock and opening the loading gate to check the loads, automatically.

Huh. .44 S&W Special. And a left side opening loading gate. Marked "Hamilton-Grover No. Five" on the barrel, and .44 Smith and Wesson Special. Stag grips.

Absently, he lowered the hammer and spun it back into the holster, reaching to draw the second gun.

Cordelia blinked, gasping.

"Huh?" Xander raised his eyebrows at her.

"Um. Just where the _hell_ did you learn that?" Cordelia said. "And _don't_ say 'Soldier Boy' – I may not know much about the military, but I know they _don't_ issue cowboy guns, Doof."

"Uh... " Xander shrugged, drawing the long barreled left side pistol. "Uncle Rory taught me, back when we were kids. Taught me to shoot a pistol, too. _Long_ time before Soldier Boy."

"Ah. Ok." Cordelia watched fascinated as he checked over the other big single action.

Huh. Another 'Hamilton-Grover No. Five, Improved', whatever that was. Oh. Custom, limited make single action, his mind supplied again. Ten and a half inch half-round, half-octagonal barrel. Low hammer and an, uh... Bisley grip. Ebony grip scales. Graduated ramp front sight, and folding leaf express rear.

Xander looked at the stamps on the leaves, and blinked. Oh-kay... either someone was _awfully_ optimistic, or he was a _much_ better pistol shot in this reality.

If he could actually _hit_ anything with a pistol at two-and-a-half hundred yards, he was a much better pistol shot _here_ than in any _conceivable_ reality... He holstered the pistol, suddenly feeling a lot more confident.

Turning to face away from the horses and the road, he angled himself slightly away from Cordelia also. Glancing to her sidelong, he said, "Clap for me."

"Huh?" Cordelia blinked.

"Clap. Hold your hands a shoulder width apart, and clap them together. Whenever you feel like."

"Uh. Oh-kay... " Cordelia looked at him like he was completely freaking insane, but did as he asked.

He caught the telltale flicker of an eyelid and twitch of a shoulder from the corner of an eye. The clap came a long beat _after_ the five and a half inch barreled six-gun cleared the right hand holster, hammer back.

Xander lowered the hammer and spun it back into the holster. He was afraid to try that with the other gun. It might work, and he was already scared enough.

Cordelia was staring at him, wide eyed, hands together, and her mouth half open. She closed it, swallowed hard, and blinked.

"Oh-kay... " she said, slowly. "You didn't learn _that_ from Uncle Rory Harris."

"No," Xander said, nodding. "And I'm really afraid to have you try it with yours. I'm already _way_ too close to freaking out."

"Uh huh," Cordelia said, nodding slowly. "Me too."

He gave her a smile he didn't feel. And judging by her return effort, not feeling it was contagious. Sighing, Xander walked over to the crest of the hill, looking back in the other direction. Chaparral and California scrub oak covered low hills, and a long way off, the faint blue glimmer of the Pacific. At least, he _hoped_ it was the Pacific, and that they hadn't been transported to the _other_ coast, or the Gulf.

He walked back to Cordelia, who was curiously examining her own handgun and looking for all the world like she knew what she was doing.

Well, duh. Cordelia's _dad_, Randall Chase, had taught her to shoot and handle a handgun. And a rifle. _And_ she'd been shooting trap and skeet since she was, like, twelve, and at near competition level since she was fourteen.

Nice to have a girlfriend who wasn't a _complete_ damsel in distress. If some uncouth Westerner tried to molest Cordelia, _she'd_ probably fuck him up before _he_ could.

Glancing up, she apparently noticed his scowl.

"What?" Cordelia asked. She closed the action and slid the pistol back into her holster.

"These," Xander said, gesturing at the gun belt and holsters around his hips. "Low slung, tied down holster rig? That's... a _Hollywood_ rig. They never _existed_ in the old west."

"Well," Cordelia frowned, and then said, "Maybe they do _here_, Dork. We were watching the West That Never Was, right?"

Xander blinked. "Uh... you think we're in the _movie_? Rio _Blanco_?"

"Well?" Cordelia shrugged, looking lost. "Any better idea?"

"Uh... " now that she mentioned it, no, he didn't. "Well, no, actually," Xander said. He was definitely scared now, and getting more so by the minute.

"Crap." Xander looked at her, feeling as lost as she looked. "We could get _killed_ here."

This time he didn't have to prompt her. She came to his arms unbidden and buried her head in his chest.

He wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and felt a little bit like freaking himself. Ok, more than a little...

Releasing her, finally, and shaking his head, Xander walked over to his horse and slid the rifle closest to him out of the saddle scabbard. Long barreled – thirty-six or so inches if it was an inch – falling block single shot rifle with a folding tang sight, and graduated express sights on the barrel. Ivory bead ramp front sight. Nicely figured walnut stock with a pistol grip, a hooked target butt plate, and a cartridge trap inset into the butt stock.

He opened the trap and drew out a round. A _long_ round, and fat like a cigar, about three and three-quarters inch in the case, head stamped .40-140 Sharps, one of the long range buffalo rounds. A... Browning High Wall. No. An 1885 _Winchester_ High Wall, _designed_ by John Moses Browning, his mind supplied, again.

Damn. That was rapidly becoming disconcerting. Scratch that – no _was_ to it.

He shouldered the rifle, raising the tang sight, first.

Sliding it back into the sheath, after replacing the round, he walked around the front of the horse, rubbing it congenially on the nose, and drew out the other rifle.

Winchester 1886 lever action, the twenty-eight inch barreled rifle version, express sights and a tang sight, with a curved, hooked, Schutzen butt plate like the long rifle's, and a two-thirds magazine. Marked .40-82 Winchester on the barrel. It had a leather cartridge sleeve around the butt stock, holding twelve big .40-82 cartridges. And a buttstock cartridge trap. _Whoever_ he was _here_, he definitely believed in peace through superior firepower. Xander shouldered the rifle after checking the chamber, the long, heavy repeater coming smoothly to his shoulder...

Damn, but again, that felt... _natural_.

_Too_ natural, and way _beyond_ merely _disconcerting_. Xander gasped as little Info Dump Guy suddenly swamped and overwhelmed him with a _flood_ of data. Memories...

Australia. The Western Territories, six months ago, not too terribly long past the Gold Rush of 1893 to 1896, when the area had been flooded with immigrants – some voluntary, some not so – and a massive influx of spending and development. And a few of the big mining conglomerates had teamed up with a couple of big ranchers and land developers to take over the Territories...

The suddenly unexpected thump as the long 1885 shoved back against his shoulder, sending a heavy, three hundred and seventy grain bullet down range to impact on the charges in the canyon wall... nearly thirteen hundred _yards_ downrange. And once more, and again. It had taken three shots to set off both charges, he remembered –

– Men and horses being engulfed in boiling, roiling dust as the rock slide covered them, the two hefty mining charges bringing down _both_ walls at the rear of the broad canyon, where it narrowed. The steady thump and crash of the big long rifle against his shoulder and ears, emptying saddles and dumping men and horses both on occasion as the heavy rounds would punch through, only to come to rest in a horse and rider beyond the target. Charging the waiting guns and the long rifle, because there was no way out of that box except forward.

A killing field, and he'd made good use of it. Some called it slaughter, later, and looked at him the way some people looked at the big cats – kind of nervous and edgy.

_He'd_ called it thinning the herd. It had seemed like a cold, neat, smart ass comment at the time...

Heat shimmer starting to rise off of the barrel, and picking off a pair of riders who'd tried climbing their horses up the side walls and out. They'd almost made it...

Sliding the long 3 ½ inch, fat cartridges into the breech, and firing again and again, like a machine. Switching off to the long lever action '86 as the range closed to five hundred yards, and then under. The hiss of water and steam as both guns overheated to the cook-off point, and Cordelia poured water down the barrels to cool them.

The guns of the Rancher's Association opening up as the riders crossed the two hundred yard markers. Martini-Henry's, the occasional Farquharson single-shot, and even the odd double rifle. Not nearly _enough_, but all the Association had been able to scrape together on short notice. Both of them firing now, he and Cordelia, the cartridge bandoliers emptying out as he started to work on the rounds in the belt...

Cordelia's Winchester '92 firing steadily by him. Shooting one man so close to the muzzle of the long '86 that he could see the scorch mark on his shirt where the slug went in. And pistol work after that, one in each hand, alternating shots... the long barreled target revolver going off so close to one man's forehead he'd seen the spray of blood, bone chips, and gray as the gunman fell back and away, his eyes wide and startled. Cordelia's Smith & Wesson's alternating shots beside him...

And in the end, she and he had been the only things moving and standing on that field of death.

He became aware after a time that he'd somehow fallen to one knee, clutching that long lever action so tightly his knuckles were _white_ around the pistol grip and fore-end. And with a shaken Cordelia clutching him by the shoulders and screaming his name over and over. And why were his cheeks wet, anyway?

"Oh, _gods_..." Xander _knew_ now what he had been here before. A _Shootist_. A professional gun for hire.

A paid killer.

"_Xander_! What the _hell_?" Cordelia's eyes were wide and frightened on his, her face almost white with fear.

He didn't have words for her. He just buried his face in the hollow of her neck and shook, all the while wondering what happened to the girl he'd kissed in Buffy's basement, who couldn't have seen him shaking and babbling into her shirt without her first concern being how _his_ freaking out was interfering with _hers_... not just holding on and rocking him.

Or maybe he was selling _that_ girl short. _Maybe_ he'd sold her short all along.

* * *

"Ok," he heard Cordelia said. "Any idea where we are? And what that is?"

Xander finished taking stock of their possessions, and glanced up and over. He'd gotten themselves and the horses off the ridge line, after his mass information glut experience, and onto the military crest where they were no longer sky lined. Soldier Boy still came in handy on occasion...

They'd decided with a kind of unspoken mutual consent to either ignore or not talk about Xander's little memory flood and near breakdown of earlier. Partly because neither of them had clue one of how to deal with it. And partly because his halting attempt to explain what was wrong had triggered Cordelia's _own_ flash flood, complete with the horror show of that fight in the Territories, and he'd ended up patching _her_ back together in turn.

Neither of them wanted to do or say _anything_ that might cause a repeat...

"Well... " Xander shrugged. "If I recognize this area, that's Highway 150 west of where it comes out of Ventura on its way to merge with 101 in the Old Carpinteria district, Good Old Sunnydale. Or it would be, if 150 was a dirt road... " he said. "Which would put us looking down on whatever that big lake would be, if there was a lake there. And about thirty or so minutes east of Sunnydale-Old Carpinteria, if we were driving."

Cordelia nodded. He didn't have to explain what that meant in terms of horseback travel. They'd both been riding since they were little kids, and still friends, and old enough for Uncle Rory or Cordy's dad to boost them onto a saddle.

"And that?" She pointed at the dust cloud, still approaching, shading her eyes with one hand.

"Uh," Xander shrugged. "Some poor idiots on their way to Sunnydale?" He sat down next to her and forestalled a sharp remark by handing her the binoculars he'd found in his saddlebags. "Here. You tell me."

Nodding, she adjusted the binoculars and held them to her eyes, using Xander's shoulder for a brace. After a few minutes, she took them down and handed them back.

"Wagon train," Cordelia said. "Or a caravan of some kind."

"Huh." Xander adjusted the binoculars for his eyes and focused in. Yup. She was right the first time – wagon train. He could see the telltale shape of a Conestoga in the dust, familiar from hundreds of Western films and old TV shows. "Yup. Sure is."

Cordelia took a drink from one of the canteens. "Thought so. Still a way off, even for a rider. Wagons move slower, don't they?" she said, frowning.

"Yeah, I think so. Bound to," Xander said, nodding. "Should we ride out to meet them and ask if they'd mind some company and an extra pair of rifles?"

"As opposed to, like, riding through the areas around Sunnydale with just the two of us?" Cordelia said, staring at him. "Are you insane? Of _course_ we should."

Xander nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Assuming they're not bad guys."

"Oh." Cordelia slumped against him. "Drat."

"Still," Xander said, shrugging. "We _could_ slide back and trail alongside until we see for sure, but if they have scouts and outriders – which they _should_ if they're smart – that'd be more dangerous than just approaching openly and all friendy like."

"And don't bet on them not being smart?' Cordelia said, nodding. "So we ride down and over and approach in the open. And tell them... what?"

"Huh." Xander shrugged again.

"Oh. Oh!" Cordelia blinked, and shook her head. "Dammit. I'm so really beginning to _hate_ that."

Xander grinned. "Another sudden memory burst from the back of your mind?"

"You too?" Cordelia scowled at him.

"Yeah, all along, not just the big one awhile ago," Xander said, nodding. "Spooky. And what'd you get?"

"_I'll_ say," Cordelia said, shivering. "And," she thumped him on the arm, "For _not_ sharing that bit of trivia ahead of time and _warning_ me, jerk – _you_ try it. Think about it."

Xander grinned at her again, ignoring the slug in the arm. Cordelia's way of showing exasperated affection... he thought about it.

Ah. And, _oh_, even.

No need to think up a story. The invisible script writer already had. They were _just_ coming back from Oz – Australia, not Oz the Wolf-boy – where he'd been doing a job of work, as he'd already been informed. Said job involving a coalition of miners, a group of ranchers, an undeclared range war, and a lot of long range rifle work... and it'd gotten ugly. _Real_ ugly.

Shades of freaking 'Quigley Down Under'. At least now he knew what had led up to that hellish long range fight... oh lucky him.

They'd gotten lucky and managed to catch a passenger steam-sail ship out of Brisbane to Auckland, rather than a clipper ship, bound for the west coast via Hawaii, and gotten off in the port of San Diego not too long ago. Shorter and faster trip than the clipper to San Diego via the Panama route. Arriving back in California a _lot_ earlier than planned, and they'd been riding for Sunnydale ever since the train had let them and the horses out at Oxnard. Heading for Uncle... no, Great Granddad, no... Uncle _now _and_ here_, Rory's spread outside of what would one day be Sunnydale.

Not too horribly far as the automobile flies from the old _old_ Chase spread, from back when her family owned half of the Santa Ynez valley up through the Santa Ynez Mountains around what was now Lake Cachuma. Which was only a valley and a chunk of the San Rafael and Santa Ynez mountains away from Sunnydale and Rory's spread.

Xander nodded, slowly.

"Oh!" Cordelia brought her hand up, staring at the ring finger of her left hand. "A promise ring? Rings?" She stared at his hand.

"Hah." Xander shook his head. He'd noticed the rings, but they hadn't really registered... Script writer thinks of everything, huh? "Hadn't thought of it 'til now, but sounds like a damned fine idea. Would you be mine?" he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Cordelia stared at him, then grinned, then burst out laughing helplessly. "Well... looks like I already said _yes_. And you didn't even _ask_ me, dammit."

"Ok," Xander said, his voice suddenly gone all quiet and intense. "I'm asking now."

"wow." Cordelia blinked, staring at him suddenly and seriously, biting her lower lip. "You actually sound _serious_ about that."

"As a heart attack." Xander took her left hand in his, and brought it to his lips, kissing her finger over the ring while looking her in the eyes. He turned her hand over and kissed her open palm, and she shivered all over. "It may sound stupid to you, but lately... I've been thinking I might be in love with you."

"Wh-why... " Cordelia swallowed hard, and tried again, regaining her voice even if it did sound a bit husky. "Why would I t-think that's stupid?"

Xander shrugged, still holding her eyes with his own. "You always tell me I'm an idiot," he said, "And that we don't have anything more than just body heat."

"Uh... " Cordelia blinked. "Sometimes, I say stupid things I don't really mean."

Xander smiled, the left side of his mouth curling up to turn it lopsided. "Blunt and honest girl? No! Say it's not true!"

"Jerk." She yanked her hand out of his and swatted him on the arm, folding hers across her chest. "Fine," she said, huffing. "So, _maybe_ I wondered if we might just be a little more than just... danger and making out in broom closets."

"And cemeteries?"

"Yeah." Cordelia's lips started twitching, almost against her will, and she grinned at him. Tossing her hair, she said, "And cemeteries."

Xander smiled back, his own broadening. "So. Cordelia Chase. This idiot boy thinks he might be in love with you. Can I have you?"

He leaned over and kissed her, slowly and deeply until she melted and moaned against him.

"Oh... " Cordelia opened her eyes. "Wow. Well, sure." She arched an eyebrow at him. "_But_ – you're buying me a _real_ promise ring when we get back to reality."

"If we get back."

"_When_, dammit."

"Ok," Xander said, nodding. He held his hand down and pulled her to her feet; kissed her again. Broke it off and said, "C'mon. Let's go catch us a wagon train to Sunnydale."

* * *

.

**Glossary of Terms:**

**.40-140-3 1/2" (or similar): **American black powder designation for cartridges. Caliber dash powder charge in grains dash case length. Hence, a .44-40 is a forty-four caliber (.429") bullet over forty grains of black powder. Sometimes with a dash bullet weight added in, sometimes not. The British use a similar, but slightly different formula and format for Express Rifle cartridges. Note: _caliber_ doesn't always match bullet _diameter_. A .38-40 is a .40 caliber, a 38-55 is a .375, and an awful lot of ".40's" were actually forty-ones. Hell, I didn't name 'em, don't blame me...

**Baroque Horse: **One of the heavy built, older style breeds of horses with a fine head and an arched neck. The destrier type, such as armored knights used to ride. Friesians, Oldenburg, Lippizan, Knabstrupper, and some Andalusian strains are Baroque breeds.

**Billy Dixon: **A buffalo hunter made legendary by an exceptional mile plus shot he made with a Sharps rifle once, during a firefight, that dropped an attacking Indian off his horse. Dead. At over a _mile_.

**Bill Jordan: **Near legendary twentieth century lawman and old border patrol officer. Had a draw with a handgun that could only be measured in _hundredths_ of a second, and required slow motion filming to capture. Used to give shooting and fast draw exhibitions – I saw one demo as a kid. Phenomenal man.

**Bisley Grip: **A single action grip type, like on a Colt Bisley revolver, that has a higher arch to the backstrap (the portion of the grip frame at the rear) and more undercut curve to the inner grip frame. Easier on the hand in heavy recoil when firing a single action.

**Buntline: **A long barreled Colt single-action revolver, generally with a twelve inch or longer barrel. Apocryphally, Ned Buntline had a number of them made up custom by Colt, and presented them to the Earp brothers, Bat Masterson, and several other old time and famous gunfighters. Often has a detachable shoulder stock, making the long barreled revolver a short, light, and handy carbine.

**Chausses: **The leg straps on a duster or drover's coat that snap or buckle around the thighs to hold it to the legs while riding.

**Coach Gun: **A short barreled, outside hammer, double barreled shotgun, so named because Stagecoach gunners often carried one for protection.

**Crossdraw Holster: **A holster or scabbard worn on the off side, positioning the grips or butt forward for a cross body draw with the strong hand. Can be very fast.

**Drilling: **A European style of three barreled combination gun. Generally either two shotgun barrels over a rifle barrel, or a double rifle with a shotgun barrel under, but there are other variations.

**Duster: **A very specific type of long, oilskin or canvas duck saddle coat worn by riders and cowboys, with a split back and, often, leg straps to hold it to the legs while riding. Original dusters were "natural" (cream colored), or mustard colored. Usually calf or ankle length.

**Drover's Coat: **What's often called a "duster" – the classic duster style oilskin or leather coat with a shoulder cape, split back, and leg chausses. Comes in either hip length, calf length, or ankle length versions. Can be snapped or buttoned back away from a holster.

**Express Sight: **A graduated rear sight on a rifle or handgun that has a shallow, deeply cut V with a slight notch at the bottom of the V for the bead of the front sight. Designed to be very fast to acquire – useful when something weighing in tons and with lots of teeth and/or tusks is coming at you very quickly with hostile intent. Generally, also has folding sight leaves that flip up for use at different ranges.

**Hamilton-Grover: **A fictional maker of fine, single-action revolvers. But, in context, no more fictional than Paladin's "custom, hand made Hamilton revolver" from Have Gun, Will Travel...

**Hol****l****iday Style Rig: **A low slung shoulder holster set up for a fast cross draw. Popularized by Val Kilmer's Doc Holliday in Tombstone, hence the name.

**Hollywood Rig: **A low slung, tied down fast draw holster and gun belt like those seen in thousands of Western movies and television shows, that never actually existed in the real American Old West.

**Ladder Sight: **A folding sight that has a cross bar with a sighting notch that can be raised or lowered to adjust for range, usually marked with increments of fifty or a hundred yards per mark. British Enfields and AK-47's have ladder sights, in modern rifles.

**Large Loop Lever: **Just what it sounds like – a large, rounded lever loop on the lever of a Winchester or Marlin rifle. Shaped kind of like a sideways D. Watch the Rifleman, or most John Wayne movies to see an example.

**Mare's Leg: **A rifle cut down at the barrel and butt stock for use as a rather heavy and slightly unwieldy pistol. Picture Josh Randall's sidearm from Wanted Dead or Alive, or Zoe's from Firefly and Serenity.

**Moriesian****: **A breed of Friesian Sport Horse – a Friesian crossed with a Morgan horse.

**One Handing a Rifle: **The art of cocking a lever action by jerking the hand upwards and letting the rifle's weight open the breech, and then jerking sharply down on the lever to close the action. Very fast.

**Receiver**** Sight: **A peep or aperture sight mounted on the receiver of a rifle.

**Remuda: **A string of horses used as remounts.

**Schutzen Stock: **A rifle stock for precision target and long range rifles with a deeply curved and hooked metal buttplate, and a pronounced cheek-piece. Used in European target and long range target shooting, but also found in America in the 1800's as well, generally in custom, or precision rifles and rifles for Creedmoor thousand yard matches. (And yes, there really were people who could put steel on target at a thousand plus yards with the old, long, black powder cartridges. It's not just a modern phenomenon.)

**Spitzer: **A pointed, streamlined bullet designed for flat trajectory and ranged shooting. Not as good for serious work, as it tends to punch a narrow hole – but in a forty, forty-five, or fifty caliber it don't matter as much: they still punch a big hole in what they hit. And it's mass and cross sectional area that gives stopping power...

**Tang Sight: **A folding aperture sight mounted on the tang of a rifle – the metal part that holds the receiver to the butt stock.

**Threepersons'**** Holster: **A cross-draw holster with a retaining strap that exposes the trigger guard and hammer of a revolver for a fast draw. Designed by Tom Threepersons. A bit of an anachronism in 1898, but no more than the Hollywood style rigs...

**Twirl Cocking (or Spin Cocking): **The art of cocking a lever action rifle by jerking upward on the lever and spinning it around the hand until its own weight and momentum closes the action on a new round. Like Chuck Connors in the Rifleman, or John Wayne in Stagecoach and True Grit. A bit hard on the rifle in real life, and it requires long arms... A variation is to snap the barrel downward and let the rifle's weight spin it down and then back up with a wrist snap to cock and reload it. Requires a custom modification to _most_ lever actions to keep the new round from flipping out. (I've worn out a standard Model '92 and a Winchester '94 Trapper with both maneuvers, as well as one handing, while practicing for Cowboy Action Shooting, so I know they can be done in real life. Required rebuilding the guts of both rifles after they loosened up... Can be done from horseback, if your horse doesn't spook at having things go flash and clackety past his ears.)

**Warlander: **A breed of Friesian Sport Horse – a Friesian crossed with an Andalusian horse.

**Wes Hardin: **John Wesley Hardin, one of the fastest of the late period gunslingers. Might not have been faster than, say, Holliday or Hickok, but I wouldn't have wanted to live or die on the difference.

**Winchester One of One Thousand: **A series of finely made presentation rifles in the Model 1873, 1876, and 1886 that were designed to showcase the very best in materials, workmanship, and craftsmanship that the Winchester Custom Shop was capable of producing. Gorgeous firearms.

**Winter Loop: **An angled, deeper than usual lever loop on a Winchester (or other lever action) that's designed for easy hand access in cold weather with bulky gloves. _Not_ a large loop, that's a different configuration. Looks kind of like a rounded wedge shape.

Most other terms _should_ be explained in story context when they occur, if I've done _my_ job right. Without exception, almost all of the shooting stunts described can be and _have been _performed by real life rifle and handgun shooters, including the extremely long range handgunning mentioned. Just not all by the same person...


	3. Definitely Not in Kansas, Any More

**Chapter Two:** **Definitely Not in Kansas, Any More...**

* * *

"_Give me a place to stand, and I'll probably move along anyway.__"_ ― Walter Slovotsky

* * *

Down on the road... actually, calling it a dirt road might be being charitable. Down at the trail, Xander grinned to himself and made a chk-chk! sound in his cheek, nudging the big Warlander into a canter. He looped the reins around the saddle horn, and knee reined the gelding in a figure-S, then took the reins in hand again and high stepped the big horse back a few paces.

Then crow hopped him sideways, and reined him around in a tight circle, ending with bringing Rembrandt up into a pawing rearing stance, and hopped him forward, hooves pawing at the air before he dropped snorting back down to all fours..

He'd forgotten what the proper dressage term for that one was, if he'd ever known it.

He bowed from the saddle, sweeping his hat off to a gape mouthed Cordelia, who'd stopped in the trail, watching him, and grinned at her.

"Ok, Dork," Cordelia said, riding up to him and shaking her head. "You are gonna _have_ to tell me where you learned that."

"I'll never tell," Xander said, bringing the gray around to fall in next to her.

"No, seriously, Xander." Cordelia glared at him. "If this isn't a dream, we're suddenly in a place where we _might_ just have to depend on each other's skills like that. I have a _right_ to know."

Xander opened his mouth, thought twice, shut it, and opened it again to nod and say. "You are not wrong."

"Of _course_ I'm not." She glared at him. "Well?" she said, arching an eyebrow. "I mean, yeah, you learned how to _ride_ from your Uncle Rory. But that's _so_ a _lot_ beyond trail riding. And you never _have_ said where you got it."

Xander shrugged. "Not much to tell, really. My Uncle Frank's dad – great uncle Douglas – owned a horse farm up in Wisconsin near Port Washington. Quarter Horses and Thoroughbreds. And his _niece_, my other aunt, was into competition barrel racing and show dressage."

Cordelia opened her mouth, thought, and shut it, nodding. "Ok, and she taught you?"

"Yup." Xander nodded. "That summer I spent up there when I was twelve or thirteen and pop shipped me off for a month or two to get me out of their hair for the summer."

"Well," Cordelia huffed, glaring at him. "Why didn't you ever just _say_ that?"

Xander grinned at her. "More fun to flabbergast you and watch you fume when I wouldn't tell." he stuck out his tongue.

"Ohhhh – you!" Cordelia leaned over from the saddle and swatted him. "That's it. I'm so not talking to you any more."

"Hey. I didn't have that many mysteries that actually impressed or fascinated you."

A very unladylike snort. Cordelia looked sidelong at him, then shook her head, grinning. "Well, it did that, all right." She frowned, "Wait... your Uncle Frank? Lambert? The one who came down after his wedding with all those kids, like that Mork or whatever that followed me around drooling at me all three weeks?"

"Mark, with the major Cordy crushage," Xander said. "And, yup."

"Ah. I liked him – your uncle, not Mark. Serious salty goodness. And your Aunt Carol knew how to dress."

"Yeah, Uncle Frank liked you too, even if you did break cousin Mark's heart," Xander said, smirking.

"Oh, please. He was a worse geek than you even. And a worse puppy dog than _Jesse_, for God's sake." Cordelia frowned, and said, "Dana was pretty cool, though."

"Oh, please. You just liked her because she hated me as much as you and Harmony did."

"She had taste," Cordelia said, agreeing. "So, that didn't come with the territory, any?"

"Naw. Maybe a bit, but, naw." Xander shook his head, and said, "I got a bit rusty after the Sunnydale Riding Stables closed down and I quit working summers there, but I think all the transfer gave me was a bit of polish and a brush up."

"Useful," Cordelia said. "I learned all the dressage and stuff for showing Keanu here, but not the barrel racing and trick riding stuff."

"Whoa." Xander reined up, Cordelia following his lead, as a set of smaller dust clouds became visible ahead of the train, one splitting off to the side and pulling up about fifty to seventy yards out.

"Outriders?"

"Yup." Xander nodded, and kept both hands carefully visible and on the saddle horn as the three riders came up at a trot. He'd been riding, after the little exhibition to tease Cordy, with the '86 Winchester out and balanced across his thighs, and he left it there. In reach but not near his hands.

Just a reasonable show of caution, but not a threat. He hoped...

At seventy or so yards, he could probably drop the rifleman with a left hand shot from the long barreled target Grover, but he'd _much_ rather _not_.

He nodded to the trio as they rode up, pulling up a cautious ten yards away. One a weather beaten, tanned and rough looking guy with a lined face. The one to his left fairly dapper, with a neat full beard, a black Stetson, and a black western cut (duh!) suit and with an ivory handled Colt in his holster.

Tied down drop loop rig, he noted. Cordelia was right. Western movie land.

The one to tanned and weathered's right, an older, red bearded man whom Xander couldn't associate with anything, looked them over and said, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and state definitively that you're not Yates and Peterson."

Deadpan, Xander looked him in the eye and said. "No. _I'm_ not Baxter. And _she's_ not Hollis."

Cordelia started making choking sounds next to him as Red Beard gave them a blank, puzzled look and dapper – oh hell, call him Kevin Kline and call weather beaten guy Scott Glenn, just for a handy label – Kevin matched Cordy for choking, stifled laughter noises and Glenn grinned at him amiably.

"Oh, pay no attention to _him_," Cordelia said, finally. "He _thinks_ he has a sense of humor, most days. But he's wrong."

Xander grinned back at the other two.

He looked over at the outrider with the rifle some sixty-ish yards away, pointedly, and then back to them. "Ok. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume you're not bad guys," Xander said. "'Cause otherwise, we're Fucked and Screwed, respectively. Possibly literally."

"Hell, I find him funny," Glenn said, grinning.

"Me too," Kline said. He touched his hat brim, nodding to Cordelia, who beamed at him. "And no, we're not bad guys. We're not Baxter or Hollis, either."

"And Yates and Peterson were supposed to meet us at Ojai and help guide the wagon train in to Sunnydale, and then the rest of it into Santa Ynez," Red Beard said. "Don't suppose... "

"Afraid not," Cordelia said, shaking her head. "You guys are the first people we've seen since we left Ventura." She paused, frowning, "Except for at the stage stop, anyway."

"If they were coming out of Sunny D? They probably got eaten," Xander said, shrugging. Glenn and Kline exchanged knowing looks and nods, he noted.

"Well, damn," Red Beard said. He glanced at Cordelia. "Pardon my French, lady." Cordelia waved it off, smiling.

Xander pursed his lips, giving them a thoughtful look. "If you don't mind signaling your friend out there that it's ok, I'll slide this Winchester back into the scabbard and we can parley."

Glenn looked him over, back, and shrugged. "Go ahead." Kline made an odd little wave, looking toward the outrider.

Xander did that thing, real careful, and nodded. "More friendly. I'm Xander Harris, and this is my, uh, fiancée, Cordelia Chase." Cordelia arched an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. Xander smiled at them, and said, "Don't suppose you folks could use some company and a couple more rifles, could you?"

* * *

Kline, whose name _was_ actually Kevin Smith, and Glenn, whose name as it turned out really was Glenn Scott – go figure – were nice enough to share their fire and meal with him and Cordy after sundown. Smith was even nice enough not to flirt with Cordelia, which Xander appreciated.

The black guy, Hal or something, had retired to his own camp after a quick meal, to catch some sleep before pulling a shift of guard duty.

"Australia, huh?" Kevin said, curiously. "What's it like down there?"

"Hot, dry, barren," Xander said, "Weird looking wildlife. And everything is trying to kill you."

"And way too many people shooting at us," Cordelia said, her voice dry.

Glenn snorted. "Sounds like Sunnydale." He glanced curiously at Cordelia. "Any relation to William Randolph Chase?"

Cordelia frowned, taking another sip of her coffee while the... Scriptwriter, as Xander called him, shuffled information from the back of her mind. "Not close, no. Daughter of a... unacknowledged relative or something like that. My aunt – great aunt? – lives in Sunnydale... she's a bit closer related, at least by ex-marriage."

"We've been away for awhile," Xander said, shrugging easily.

"Huh. Pardon my sayin' but you don't look all that old," Glenn said. "For it to be a _long_ while, anyhow."

Xander shrugged again, avoiding exchanging glances with Cordelia. Cordy had looked older than she was, slightly, ever since she started to, uh, develop. Mature. Grow tits. Whatever. And she'd looked _him_ over, frowned, and said the Scriptwriter must have aged him a bit, because he looked a bit older and more serious, suddenly.

Looking at himself in the hand mirror she had in her saddle-pack, he had to admit that with the three day growth of five o' clock shadow he was sporting, he could _probably_ pass for his mid twenties, maybe.

"Been told I look younger than I am," Xander said. "Old enough, I guess. We've been gone... oh, a few years now."

"Not intending to pry," Glenn said, waving a hand. "Just curious."

Cordelia looked away, over to the other fires around the camp, and then back, scowling. "You mean half of these people are really going to settle in _Sunnydale_?"

"And half in the Santa Ynez Valley, yup," Glenn said.

"Can lead a man to knowledge," Kevin said, "But you just can't make him think."

Xander grinned. "I like that. I may steal it from you."

"Be my guest," Kevin said, gesturing magnanimously. "If you feel that way about the place, why go back?"

"Well, made some cash down under," Xander shrugged again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that. He and Cordelia had agreed on a story on the ride down to meet the wagon train. "Going to work at my Uncle's spread for awhile."

"Save some money, buy our own place, eventually," Cordelia said. "_Away_ from here.'

"Colorado, maybe."

"Been there," Glenn said, nodding. "Silverado is nice."

"Now," Kevin said, exchanging looks and smirks with him.

A trio of wolves began howling in the foothills in the distance, the sound raising hair on the backs of necks and making horses snort and shy all around the camp.

Wolves. In this area? They were probably _were_wolves...

"So, you both know my great great uncle? William Randolph?" Cordelia asked, curiously.

"Hell, I work for him," Glenn said. "Foreman and ranch manager."

Kevin nodded. "But I don't work for him. I own and run a saloon and gambling establishment in Santa Barbara."

"And house of ill repute," Glenn said, smirking.

"It is _not_. I'm highly insulted," Kevin said, looking anything but. "That's the _other_ place – down the street."

They all laughed.

"Well, in all fairness," Glenn said. "Most of the people on this train have already had a pretty hard time of it, from what I've gathered. Sunnydale might just seem like a paradise to them, after."

"Might," Kevin said. He looked doubtful, though. Xander didn't blame him.

"Interim Mayor, Wilkins, has been hiring a lot of guns lately," Glenn said, his voice contemplative. "Reliable rumor has it he wants to make sure he's the _actual_ mayor, come the official founding next year."

Nod. "So has the big mine owner of the Silverlode, and the owner of the Bar-C," Kevin said.

Xander and Cordelia exchanged looks. He could _feel_ her thinking the same thing he was. 'Wilkins?' As in, Cheerful Dick Wilkins, their Mayor?

"Take it the mine owner and the Bar-G owner are Mayor Dick's supporters?" Xander asked.

"Yup." Glenn nodded. "And the county Sheriff is in his pocket, also. Sunnydale, formerly 'Paradise' California, broke off from Santa Barbara County a couple years ago, with Ojai as the new County seat."

"Uh... Bob Munroe?" Cordelia ventured, with an expression of distaste.

"Yup. The Once and Every Other Sheriff," Kevin agreed, with a wry smile. "Rumor has it that the town Marshall has sent for a few guns of his own. Seems he was starting to feel a mite outnumbered."

"Fancy that," Xander said, shaking his head. Ok, he was starting to see the outline of the Scriptwriter's plot, here...

"Who would be?" Cordelia asked. At Glenn's inquiring look, she clarified: "The town Marshall of Sunnydale," she said.

"Ah. Fellow called Dude, no last or first name I know of other than that," Glenn said, nodding. "Good man, real good with a gun. Solid."

Yup. Bingo. We're in Rio Bravo on the Hellmouth, Xander thought. Or the sequel...

"Well," Kevin said, swirling the dregs of his coffee around in his cup, and tossing them in the fire. "I'm going to turn in. Long day of pushing wagons and riding scout tomorrow."

"Me too." Glenn did the same. "We make decent time, like today, we should be in Sunnydale early to mid morning on the day after tomorrow, or most likely, the morning after," he said.

Xander nodded.

"Hey – " Cordelia said. Glenn half turned back, his eyebrows going up. "If you work for Chase as a manager, why... ?" She gestured out at the camp.

"Am I riding herd on a wagon train full of greenhorns?" Cordelia nodded, and Glenn grinned. "Hell, a good chunk of them are immigrants, all the way from the other coast. They're going to be working for us up in the timber leases in the Santa Ynez Mountains."

"Ah. Gotcha," she nodded.

"Sleep well. Like the man said – long day tomorrow."

* * *

"Jesus _Christ_, Xander," Cordelia said. "My great Grandfather is a _teenager_ right now. _Pre_teen, maybe. William Randolph Chase the First is my Great _Great_ Grandfather, I think. Or something... Jeeze."

"Uh huh. Color my mind boggled also," Xander said. "My dad isn't even born yet. My _granddad _is maybe not even born yet."

She shivered against his chest, and he pulled her in closer, wrapping his other arm about her and stroking her hair.

"Gods," Cordelia said, her voice sounding awfully small. "What the _hell_, Xander? Did we get sucked into a Hellmouthy time warp or something?"

"Or something. You were right – we've landed in a kind of a rewritten filming of Rio Blanco," he said. _He_ shivered, this time. "Dude? Dean Martin, the former drunken Sheriff of Rio Bravo? Bet you real money that one of the fast guns he sent for was John T. Chance... "

"Oh, gods... "

"Even worse. We don't know what part of the movie we're in," Xander said.

'_No,' _Still Small Voice said. _'__What's_worse_ is: we don't know if we're bit parts or the stars. And I wouldn't bet on us being the stars... '_

No. I mean, yeah. But _no_ – I am _not_ saying that to Cordy.

_'Hell. I don't blame yas. She's freaked enough.'_

"Well," Cordelia said. "You always start a movie at the beginning, right?"

"Not when you're shooting it... "

"Oh. Right. I _knew_ that, doh."

Xander smiled down at her, even if she couldn't see it in the dark here. He'd laid out their bedrolls side by side when he'd set up their camp at the other side of Kevin and Glenn's. Now, they were using his and her ground sheets and blankets to lie on, and her blanket for a cover over both of them.

So they could lay here with her wrapped up in his arms, sprawled across and cuddled into his chest, 'natch, her left leg thrown across his possessively.

"You're taking this a lot better that I thought you would, at first," Xander said.

"As opposed to _what_, for crying out loud? Jeeze, I'm a wreck." Cordelia shook her head against his chest. "You, on the other hand... you seem all, cool and _collected_, like, now. Post freak out. When the hell did _you_ get collected, Doof Boy?"

"When I decided that if I freaked out again, you would too, and we couldn't afford for _both_ of us to fall apart at once."

"Ah. Makes sense."

"Don't worry. I'm saving up to buy a _real_ nervous breakdown just as soon as I can afford one," Xander said, and Cordelia snickered.

"Put a down payment on one for me, too, while you're at it."

"Oh, _hell_ no. You're rich – buy your own," he said, and she giggled, and then started snickering helplessly.

"Oh, jeeze – don't _do_ that. I start laughing right now, I may not stop. Ever." Cordelia grinned into his chest – he could feel her lips spread out against his bare skin. "Ok," she said. "Rio Bravo, huh? No – Rio _Blanco_, since apparently my grandmom is in this one, playing my aunt in eighteen hundreds Sunnyhell."

"Not _just_ Rio Blanco, either. Think about it. We've seen elements of Silverado already. With elements of Quigley Down Under and real life, too, mixed. Mayor Grinning Dick? My great um whatever granddad Rory as Uncle Rory Harris? Who knows?" Xander shook his head. "We may be in Western Movie Land, not just Rio Blanco."

"Oh, wow. Like, bits and pieces of all the stuff we've been watching?"

"Odds and ends, yeah," Xander said, shivering. "Hell, I've probably seen every decent Western ever made, thanks to Rory getting me hooked on them as a kid. That and Country and Western, my 'Music of Pain' addiction."

"Snerk. We like _both_ kinds of music here: Country _and_ Western," Cordelia said, snickering. "And, good plan," she added, her voice serious. He made an inquiring noise, and she said, "Not panicking. I'm hanging together because you are. It helps."

"We aim to please. You aim too, please."

He felt her grin against him again, and she said, "Thanks. You know, you're really not nearly as bad as I like to joke and tell you you are."

"Gee. And on _that_ ringing endorsement... "

"Oh, shut up. _Jerk_," she huffed. "You _so_ know what I mean. I mean... "

"Uh huh. So, all joking, mostly, huh?"

"Well, yeah. No. Kind of," Cordelia huffed again in exasperation, more to herself than him, it sounded like. "I mean, _playing_, like. Since we were all little kids together and Mother decided in second grade that a _Chase_ needed to hang out with her own social class, and we, like, _had_ to hate each other because that was _so_ the only way I could _not_ hang out with you and Will and Jesse." She sighed, and said, "Until we forgot we were _playing_, or I did. and we started really hating each other."

"Yeah. And," he said, starting to grin, "Twelve years of stolen kisses and copped feels and slaps across the chops, and hanging out and arguing and teasing each other when no one was looking."

"And getting married in your backyard at seven with a gumball ring and Willow's Barbie as a dowry," Cordelia said, laughing. "And – _jerk_! Willow never _forgave_ me for that. It was worse than when I broke her freaking crayon."

"You! She's never forgiven _me_. Why should _you_ get off easy?"

"Because I'm a girl, darn it."

"Sigh. I will never ever understand women," Xander said, grinning up into the stars.

"Don't bother. Women understand each other, and we all _hate_ each other," Cordelia said. "Better we remain a mystery to you."

"Ah. So _that's_ the secret," Xander said, nodding. "So – still have the ring?"

"Well, duh. I'm a girl. Of _course_ I do," Cordelia said. "And if you ever tell a _soul_, I'll deny deny deny to my death bed." She sighed, heavily. "Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"Will we get out of here? And back home?" Cordelia asked, sounding almost plaintive. "Tell me the truth."

"Hell, Cordy. Have no idea." Xander sighed. "We might be stuck here," he said. "Who knows?"

"Oh." Cordelia sighed again. "I was going to sleep with you."

"Huh wha?" Ok, _that_ sudden curve came outta nowhere. He could feel Still Small sitting stunned and blinking in the back of his mind, even.

"This weekend," she said, softly. "While my parents were gone and we had the house to ourselves. Before they came back, and we wouldn't have another chance before I went to Mexico, or any place alone until after school started."

"Oh." Wow. That was like a punch in the stomach. So _that's_ what flabbergasted felt like. He'd never really known...

"Oh?" She raised her head, looking at him in the dark, "Is that all you have to say, Doof?" she said.

"I'm literally speechless, Cordy," Xander said. "I mean, what do you _say_ to that? Thank you? or, I'm so sorry? But I'm not sorry, because hey – a near sex experience, and oh god, I'm babbling please kill me now... "

Cordelia laughed and thumped him on the chest with her fist. "Reboot, Dork. I know what you mean, honest."

"Well," he said, after a long, thoughtful silence, "If we _are_ stuck here, I meant what I said. You said I could have you and you're mine now."

"No. I'm _mine_. But you can share me with me."

"Ah. But, I flunked plays well with others in preschool... " Xander rolled her over onto her back, suddenly, her head in the crook of his arm, hair spread out over the bedroll. He kissed her, deeply, until she moaned, and his hand slid up under her sleep t-shirt, one of _his_ t-shirts and found a bare breast to tease and trail his fingertips across.

"Oh, no you don't... " Cordelia pulled away, looking up at him. "Just because I _said_ I was going to have sex with you, _doesn't_ mean I want to in- in a blanket roll out in the freaking _wilderness_, Jerkoff." She gasped as he found a sensitive spot, and her back arched. "I- I- I- _quit_ that, oh god. I want, l-like, a _real_ bed and candles and stuff."

"Ok. Me too," Xander said, kissing her again. "And roses. Nothing but the best for my Cordy." He slid his hand slowly beneath the waistband of her panties, and she gasped again. "But we can figure out lots of things to do that aren't real sex."

"Oh. Well, Ok."

They did...


	4. Welcome Back to the Hellmouth -

**Chapter Three: Welcome _Back_ to the Hellmouth. Enjoy Your Stay...**

* * *

"_The hot bath is an art form, and one I wish I had the time to practice assiduously.__"_ ― Walter Slovotsky

* * *

_July 19, 1898 – Morning:_

True to prediction, amazingly enough, it was early morning after the second day after they'd arrived and they were sitting their horses on a hillside overlooking the Little Town on the Mouth of Hell.

Well, he and Cordy and Kevin Smith and Glenn Scott. The rest of the train was about a half a day's travel behind them. They'd ridden ahead, leaving the other scouts and outriders to guide them the rest of the way in. Should be safe enough...

In two days of riding, they'd – also amazingly enough – not been attacked by anything, even at night. Probably too large and too heavily armed a group for vampires or anything other than a large pack of demons to attack. Probably. Several times, at just dawn and near dusk, he'd seen shadowy movement off along ridge-lines or hillsides above and away from them.

Too furtive and moving too... oddly to be wild game, like California Mule Deer or Cougar. Or Coyotes.

All occasions, he'd drawn the big, long Winchester High-wall, and watched through the aperture of the peep tang sight until the movement was no longer visible. And then for a bit longer... before letting out a deep, ragged breath and lowering the heavy rifle.

He wasn't sure that a heavy three hundred plus grain lead slug would actually _hurt_ some of the stuff around Sunnydale, but it sure couldn't _improve_ it any.

No attacks on people, anyway, which was what really mattered. On the next day after his and Cordy's arrival, about an hour before full sundown, something all too hairy, lean, and fast moving with _way _too many teeth had burst out of a chaparral choked arroyo and attacked some of the cattle herd. A heavy, lead two hundred and seventy grain flat point from the 1886 had stopped it, and a second one sent it rolling – to be dropped, kicking, snarling, squalling and choking its life out in the brush by a third.

Neither he nor Glenn had been able to identify it.

It _could_ have been a mutated cougar, maybe, but...

That was when he'd discovered for certain that none of _their_ horses were the least bit gun-shy. The pack mare was the only one that even flinched and kicked up a fuss at gunfire, the next day when someone else had spotted something and taken a pop at it. Good thing, he had the feeling.

Anyway... Not nearly as much town down there as there was in their day and time. And place. For all of Cordelia and Buffy's biting commentary about 'One Starbucks towns', a town of thirty-eight thousand people wasn't _that_ small. Modern day Sunnydale actually had several bars, not just the Bronze and Fish Tank, a UCS campus, two smaller colleges -slash- private academies, more than one high school and junior high and elementary, a zoo, mall, Cineplex, and museum, and an "International" (read: regional) airport, as well as a bus and Amtrak station.

Down below was along Main Street – what would probably be Wilkins Boulevard in their time and place. With several short side streets intersecting, and a collection of, well, _Western_ buildings with western style false front facades. And a number of Mission style and Spanish colonial buildings here and there, including a church.

_Not_ Mission Revival, or Spanish Colonial-Hacienda California faux Spanish. The real stuff: adobe and stucco and tile roofs that had a bizarrely... _authentic_ look.

There was an adobe and stone walled mission about where Sunnydale High should be, he judged, covering the area of the modern school grounds. And another mission style, but smaller, building and compound at the far end of Main, with a cluster of shacks past it. A tall brick and stone building that just had to be the Arms. A brick church with a tall steeple past and off to the side of that, also. Off in the distance, what looked to be a wooden palisade Western fort about where Fort Halleck should be. A sprawl of two cemeteries...

_'Naturally,'_ Still Small said. _'Tis Sunnydale, after all.'_

Long building at the crossways street at this end of Main, what would probably become the old Sunnydale train station before it was torn down to make way for the new Amtrak depot. Had to be, judging from the double line of rail starting to extend a couple miles thisaway from that end. With a stock yard, pens, barns, and corrals near the still under construction depot.

There the medieval looking height of the water tower -slash- standpipe at Gunnery Hill, over where the wealthy neighborhoods, including Cordy's, and Angel's old Crawford Mansion, would be one day. Sunlight gleamed on the slate of the distinctive pyramid roof. And the old Standhouse water tower up on its hilltop at what would one day be The Heights, back and north of town.

There was the base and first few stories of a new all brick water tower and standpipe growing from a rise down near the fishing village of the waterfront district, out where Old Carpinteria would soon be. Hmm... uh, the seventeen story reach of what would one day be the Altamira Water Tower; tallest structure in Sunnydale for a long, long time. Damn. He hadn't known that was being built around _now_...

There was the dirt oval of a race track, with stands, out just past the tent city towards them, up from the growing sprawl of the Great Northern Pacific train station. Around three eighths of a mile, maybe. Quarter horse track. Heh. In Camptown, natch. Camptown ladies sing this song, doo dah.

Cordelia glanced over at him at the snicker he let out. He shook his head, not sharing the lame joke, and she scowled.

Docks, with what looked like fishing boats and small to medium fishing village down where the beach and waterfront was. A few – very few store type and bar type shacks and buildings down there. Probably what would later become Old Carpinteria... Beyond the town proper, and around it, houses, and then shacks. And then an awful _lot_ of tent city sprawling out north and east past Main, and north and west toward Fort Halleck.

Ok. And, down there on the flats between Sunnydale and Old Carpinteria, a longer, mile long or so, track. The thoroughbred and trotter track where the Carpinteria Polo fields would be later, and Sunnydale Riding Stables where he and Jesse used to work in the summers.

Booming town. Growing like a sprawl of kudzu in the Southern California sun.

Maybe four to five thousand people, he estimated, judiciously. A lot for this time, he figured. Hell – Santa Barbara probably wasn't more than twenty thousand right now, if that.

Beyond town, to the north and coming down from the foothills of the Santa Ynez, along what would later be Sundowner, was a cloud of dust that through the binoculars, proved to be a stagecoach with an eight to nine horse team, heading in. Maybe a half hour to an hour or so off yet. Maybe.

Xander wasn't sure what the nineteenth worked out to, day wise, in 1898, but it probably wasn't a Sunday. No church or Mission bells tolling people in to Mass. Maybe a Saturday... there was an awful lot of crowd going on down there, and what looked to be an outdoor party or festival.

He hoped it wasn't a lynching. That'd be just _too_ much fun. Not.

He made a chk-chk! sound and nudged the big Appaloosa into a sidestep, away from a lazy desert rattler that flicked its tongue at them contemptuously, and s-curved on its way without even bothering to rattle.

Kevin glanced over at him approvingly, and nodded. "And once again I say: nice piece of horseflesh. All of them," he said. "Well trained, too."

"Thanks," Cordelia said, grinning. Love me, love my horses... he missed her dog. _Their_ dog. The big Afghan hound would be _fun_ out here, in this.

He'd been a bit concerned once he found out that Glenn worked for Chase that he might recognize the brands. And then he remembered vaguely that brands evolved and changed over time, and the current Chase brand probably wouldn't even resemble the _Rocking-C_ of their time. Besides, when he'd checked, he'd found that all of Glenn's horses wore a _Star__-__C_, for some reason... so it probably _had_ changed.

"Not completely cow pony trained, but they'll pick that up soon enough, as needed," Xander said. "That big black Saddlebred of yours is pretty nice, too." He eyed the dust cloud again, and jerked his head to Glenn. "Any idea on that?"

Glenn shaded his eyes, squinting and declining the offer of the binoculars. "Stage out of Bakersfield and all, through Casitas Pass. Probably, oh... quarter to a half hour out yet."

"You're probably a better judge than I," Xander said. "Shall we?"

"Let's do."

God. He needed a bath. And a shave. So did Cordy... not that he'd _say_ that to or around her.

Heh. You think women don't explode, just drop one real hard...

They nudged the horses into a walk, and then a canter, and headed down to their doom.

Figuratively, he hoped.

* * *

"**Welcome to**" (Paradise Happydale Sunny Acres - with all of those crossed out, Xander noted) "**Sunnydale**. Population" (513 1024 2341 2765) "Approximately 4,234 + and Growing!" the sign proclaimed.

Another sign, a banner across Main, announced "Today Only! Bi-Annual Shooting Contest EX-Travaganza! All WELCOME!" Another below that promised: "Pistol, Rifle, Shotgun, and Long Range!"

"Huh." Cordelia caught his eye, and motioned him back slightly with a jerk of her head. He fell in beside her as she slowed her big brown Moriesian a bit. Laertes, that was it. After the Shakespeare character...

"So... can you shoot like you can draw?" Cordelia asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Hmm." Xander shrugged, reaching back to see if the little scriptwriter had provided anything. Huh. He had... "Well, I'm fast. You saw that. Bill _Jordan_ fast, probably."

"Whatever _that_ means," Cordelia said, frowning.

"Famous lawman," Xander said, grinning at her. "Don't worry about it. On the rest... gonna have to go with: yeah. Probably. Won't know til it comes up in practice, really."

"So... " she arched her eyebrows again.

Shrug. "Decent rifle, better than pretty good handgun, and real good long range rifle."

"Uh _huh_." Cordelia nodded, and nudged Laertes back into a trot to catch up. He did the same, shaking his head and grinning.

They headed to the livery stables at the edge of town, just past Tent City, to stable and get their horses cared for. Glenn and Kev said they were headed in for a drink somewhere, after. They pulled up out front to the sound of a hammer ringing on anvil somewhere to the back.

A grinning, very dark boy of about eleven or so came up to take their reins. He grinned even wider when he was flipped several quarters by Glenn, Kevin, and Xander, juggling them all expertly out of the air before they could hit the ground. A smiling, very pretty, coffee colored girl of about their age – his and Cordy's apparent age, anyway, say mid twenties or so – came up to take their money.

"Any idea how long for?" she asked.

"Not a clue," Xander said. "Clueless, am I."

"Just the day for us, ma'am. _Maybe_ two," Glenn said. "We're heading out after the rest of the train gets rested, fed, and ready."

"All righty," she said, naming a price that seemed ridiculously low to Xander. Probably to Cordelia, too, for she blinked, looking stunned. "And I'll put your five in for a week. You get the difference back if you leave earlier, how's that?"

"Oh... fine," Cordelia said. "Sounds great."

"Gunn's?" Xander said, jerking his head up in the direction of the sign.

"My man's name. Gunn, as in William Gunn. William, not Bill or Will," she said. She grinned, "Me, I'm Isabelle."

"Xander Harris," Xander said, touching his hat brim. "And this is Cordelia."

"Pleased."

The boy brought back their rifle scabbards and saddlebags, looking way too overburdened by the mass. Xander took them off his hands with a grin, resisting a bizarre urge to ruffle his hair. _He'd_ always _hated_ that as a kid.

"Well," Glenn said. "We're off for that drink. And a _bath_, most likely."

"Oh, dear gods... a _bath_." Cordelia looked like she was going to pass out at the thought.

Kevin grinned at her. He and Glenn put out their hands to shake. "Good riding with you. You decide to work for something other than family, head up and see Glenn. Or me, in Santa Barbara."

"Hell _yeah_, any time," Glenn said. "Later."

"Laters," Xander said. He and Cordelia watched them head off, bemused. "Good people," he said.

Cordelia nodded. "Yeah. Nice."

The sound of the ringing hammer ended, and after a short while, a slight bit shorter than medium height, broad shouldered, reddish haired man came out from the side and back, stretching, blinking, and rolling his shoulders. Farrier. Or blacksmith. He was wearing a blacksmith's leather apron over a bare chest and blue jeans.

Impressive chest and shoulders. Damn. Guess that hammer would do that for you. Xander made a mental note to work out more..

Cordelia's jaw dropped. "Oz?"

The man looked at her curiously, and at Xander. "I know you?"

Damn. It _was_ Oz. Voice and all.

"Maybe?" Xander said. "We grew up around here... awhile back. Cordelia," he indicated her, "And Xander Harris is me."

"Ah. Possibly." Oz nodded. "I know some Harrises."

Heh. Still a man not to use two words when one would do. Xander grinned. "Probably my uncle," he said.

"Probably." Oz nodded again. "Well, good to see you. Have to get back to work," he said. "Drop by. Visit. We'll talk." He stretched again, and turned and headed back the way he came.

"Damn." Cordelia blinked. "Oz?"

"Heh. So _that's_ what Oz's natural hair color is. I never knew."

Cordelia swatted him. They headed out to the street, Xander carrying his two rifle scabbards, and both saddle bags slung over his shoulder, and Cordelia carrying her own rifle. Lots of people, lots of them wearing Sunday Best. Victorian maybe, or American equivalents, and some... Edwardian? Not sure. A few brand new _ancient_ looking automobiles spooking horses and people. Even a couple of steam cars.

They made it down Main almost past the church, through the crowds, gazing around curiously, until...

"Well, fuck me running," a deep, rich voice said. A woman's voice scolded him. "Xander Harris, as I live and breathe." Xander turned to see a very familiar, albeit much younger face than expected face jumping down from a wagon seat and heading toward them. "And little Cordelia – only not so little, any more."

"Uncle Rory," Xander said, his face spreading out into a wide grin.

"Wasn't expecting you for another month, boy. At least."

* * *

Well, day-um. And damn, even.

Xander had always thought his Dad's oldest brother, Rory Harris, slightly resembled an older Powers Boothe the way his dad kinda resembled an older Fred Ward, if you squinted a bit. Here, it was more than just a slight resemblance, and not so much in the older.

This Uncle Rory was about forty-ish, and with salt and pepper rather than gray hair that still had a lot more pepper than salt. And a still black, neat handle bar mustache and goatee-slash-beard that was mostly black, still.

New blue shirt with faint pinstripes, jeans, and brown suede chaps over brown square toed Trooper style boots, like Xander's. A broad, flat brim Mexican style Stetson, also dark brown. And a broad cartridge belt with a pistol in a crossdraw holster that covered too much of the gun for Xander to identify it.

Much closer to what people actually carried guns in back in the Old West. But at that slant... with the grips uncovered, that rig would be _fast_.

_'And as the info man says, I seem to recall that he _is _fast with it,'_ Still Small remarked. _'And accurate, which is better.'_

Uh huh. Real fast often misses. Slower but accurate often kills. How often had the _real_ Rory told him that when he was teaching him to shoot, way back when?

While his mind was processing all of that, his mouth was on autopilot, as usual. "Hey. Made better time than expected. Caught a steam sailer – the SS Great Eastern II – out of Auckland, bound for Honolulu to San Diego, instead of catching the Wave Witcher bound for the coast via Panama. We made up some days when a Clipper would have been calmed and stalled."

Rory nodded like Xander had had an actual clue what he'd just said. Xander hoped Info Dump Guy at least knew what _he_ was talking about...

Cordelia nodded, giving Rory her best and most genuine thousand watt toothpaste smile. Well, her and Aura had always liked the real world Rory when they were little kids. Stands to reason she'd like movie Rory.

"And, damn," Cordelia said. "You look good."

"Well, thank you, young Miss," Rory said, sweeping off his hat in a low bow. "And you sure are a vision, yourself." He straightened, and threw a wide grin back at the wagon. Nice, big red four seat hitch wagon, with a matched four horse team of equally nice American Cream Draft pulling it.

"Hey, Bethany. It's our nephew and his young lady," Rory called out.

"I see that," Bethany Harris said. Wow. So _that_ was his great great grandmother Beth...

Redefining GMILF since 1898...

Dark blonde hair with a wash of auburn and only a hint of gray, in an up-do, witch loose strands straggling down to frame her face. Very pretty, pleasant face, full lips. A dark green, um, Edwardian? maybe style dress, that was very sharp. Matching parasol thingy. Sunday go-to-meeting clothes. Hers and Rory's.

Damn. Well, Rory's taste in women was as good as his taste in horseflesh. Great Great Granddad done all right for himself. Still Small started whistling _'I'm my own grandpa'_ in the back of his mind. Stop that.

"Xander," Bethany said, giving him a wide smile. "And Cordelia – it's been awhile."

Cordelia nodded back, smiling. "It has."

Xander swept off his own hat. "Aunt Bethany. You look good."

All they needed was Mom and Dad, as played by Dana Delaney and Fred Ward, and they'd have the full set. Gotta catch 'em all.

"Well, hell, you two," Rory said. "Set those things in back, and hop on." He looked to the wagon. "Scoot over, Richard. Make room for your uncle and soon-to-be aunt there, boy."

Huh. Richard? Great uh, great uncle Richard? Too many greats? Grandpa Robert's older brother? Older hell – the dark haired kid looked to be about twelve, _maybe_.

"Well, mine, anyway," Cordelia was saying. "Xander's going to need his. He's entering the big Shoot-off."

"I am?" Xander blinked.

"You _so_ are, Goof Boy."

"He is, now," Rory's grin got even wider.

"She's bossy," Xander said, his tone conspiratorial.

"Hell, son, they _all_ are," Rory said. "You just now learning this?"

Huff. "I _so_ am _not_!" Cordelia put her free hand on her hip, and glared at them, blowing loose hair out of her eyes.

"Hell, jump on anyway. We'll ride as far as Lee Fong's General, and then I'll walk with you up to the shooting grounds."

* * *

Rory pulled up the wagon in front of a classic looking Western General store with a sign up top front naming it "Lee Fong's General Emporium & Dry Goods – We have Everything!". Red paint, with white trim, and a real, three story barn like building, not a box warehouse style with a fake front facade. He didn't recognize the name from their Sunnydale, so Lee Fong must be long gone by then, or he'd never existed there.

Damn. He was gonna have to stop doing that. It could get them _killed_, maybe.

He'd better start taking this for real as long as they were here, and dealing with it on its own terms. 'Cause as fascinating as it was, he wanted to _survive_ it to have unbelievable stories to tell Willow and Giles...

And if his worst fears were right and they were stuck? Then taking it for real might be the difference between making it or not...

Rory had kept up a running commentary, as had the kid when he could get a word in edgewise, both pointing out new stuff and things that had changed since he and Cordy had supposedly last been there.

"Whelp. All right," Rory set the brake, looped the reins around it, and jumped down, putting up his hands to help Cordelia step down from the second seat before going around to do the same for his wife. _Xander_ was on his own, apparently. He grinned.

"Here we are," Rory said, taking a nice looking engraved Winchester '94 from the wagon rack. "Sorry about this, Beth, but you know how it is – guests take priority. Ricky – you help your mom with her shopping while I show your uncle and future aunt around and get 'em to the Shoot Off."

"Don't worry, Rory," Bethany said. "We'll be fine. Cordelia – it was good to see you again. You, too, Xander."

"Likewise," Cordelia said. "We'll see you again – Xander says we're staying out there?"

"Well, I should say I hope so!" Bethany agreed, smiling.

"Dad! But I want to see the shooting," Richard squalled.

"Ah! You help your mother with her shopping, now, hear?" Rory said. "You get done and everything's loaded, _then_ you can come hunt us up for watching the rest of the shoot – not before."

Ricky looked rebellious, and Rory turned slightly to wink at Xander and Cordy from the eye the kid couldn't see. "Move it. Don't make me bust your butt, boy."

Heh. Rory, if he was anything like Xander's Rory, would cut his own arm off before hitting a kid. Ever. Did the trick though, and squashed the rebellion. Mostly. Bethany gave them a last smile and swept in, a sullen Ricky falling in behind.

"Good boy," Rory said, looking a bit sheepish, "But he can have a mouth on 'im. And stubborn? Whoo-ee."

"Yeah. _Never_ a problem for your old man with you," Xander said, dead pan. "Or mine."

Rory grinned. "No one likes a smart ass, boy. Don't make me bust _your_ ass neither." Cordelia laughed, and he winked at her. "But Xan may be right, at that. Hear tell I was a handful."

"No!" Cordelia said, in a tone of mock surprise, "_Tell_ me it's not _true_."

"Sad to say," Rory said, laughing. "C'mon." Xander shouldered his rifle scabbard, having slung the long one by the carry strap, and followed along with Cordelia at his side.

The stage was just now pulling into the depot by the hotel, as they reached the saloon across the street. Xander stopped, saying, "Hold up a minute. Want to see who gets off."

"Paranoid, boy? Or just curious?" Rory asked.

"Heh. Both?" Xander gave him a lopsided grin.

"Well, can't really blame you, I reckon," Rory said, nodding.

There was a small crowd gathering as they watched. Apparently, in an era with no television, arrival of a stage coach – even from somewhere relatively close, like Ojai or Bakersfield – was an event. Xander saw someone who caught his eye, and nudged Cordelia with an elbow. She jumped slightly, swatted him, then followed his gaze and gaped.

Rory must have as well. Tilting his head toward the waiting people, he said, "Marshall Dude himself come to meet it."

Ok, so... "Dude" didn't _quite_ look like Dean Martin's identical twin, but near enough that you wouldn't want to live on the difference, as he'd heard Rory put it once. Silver Marshall's star, faded once dark-blue denim shirt, black vest and hat, fading gray corduroy jeans, and old, well broken in black boots. Harness boots, not cockroach killers.

And a low worn Colt in a worn looking right hand holster on an equally well used black cartridge belt. Not quite a Hollywood rig, but still a tie down style that looked fast, with the belt angling to put the grip right at the sweet spot between the wrist and elbow.

He had a twelve gauge coach gun in the other hand, casually resting over the left shoulder, and the blue eyes looked wary and watchful. Cordelia nudged him this time, and Xander followed her gaze:

And across the street, same side, just coming out of the hotel front doors to watch the arrivals...

Mayor Smiling Dick hisself, Richard Wilkins the First. Flanked by... Jack freaking O'Toole and Kyle DuFours. Both wearing low slung, raked forward speed rigs with well worn pistol grips jutting from holsters. Son of a _bitch_.

_'Well, damn,' _Still Small said. _'Those two idiots were dangerous enough _without_ guns.'_

Kyle, not so much, the part of Xander that was still hyena said. But O'Toole didn't _need_ a gun to be a deadly psychopath. And working for Mayor Dick. _So_ not of the good.

The stage had a couple of horses tied by lead ropes to the back, trailing behind it as it stopped. One, a nice looking bay saddle blanket Appaloosa, slightly smaller than Xander's black, but still a substantial looking quarter horse style Nez Perce. The other a really sweet looking roan Tennessee Walker. Xander would have to thank his three plus summers of working the Sunnydale riding stables for his eye for horses one day.

"Well, hell. There's a sight I haven't seen in years," Rory said. "Not since I was your age and still riding the Badlands, Xan."

"Holy crap!" Cordelia grabbed Xander's bicep with both hands, likely to cut off circulation. He couldn't blame her. "It really _is_ John Wayne," she said.

"Well, John Chance, anyway," Rory said, giving her a glance. "But then, a man like that's probably worn a few names not his own over the years... "

Big man. _Real_ big. You didn't get the real impact on screen. A lined, weather beaten face that _redefined_ craggy and lumpy. Fading red denim work shirt, and old red & white bandana. Well worn tan colored canvas jeans. Battered off white big Stetson. What modern makers called "The Duke Rig" worn low around the hips, with the classic 'yellow handle" Colt SAA stuck in the holster and worn slightly to the back. And a much nicer than film looking version of that big, oval looped lever action Model '92. No, a '94, and a bit fancier than the movie gun...

Holy Mother of Mithras. Man's biceps were as big around as Xander's freaking _waist_.

The guy getting out behind him looked tiny compared to Chance, but he was probably a few inches taller than Xander's five eleven and a half. Slender, not huge.

Wearing black jeans, a faded and dirty white shirt, black denim vest, a long mustard colored drover's coat, and a _not_ Hollywood belt with a worn looking ivory gripped Remington Single Action Army in a Rio Grande style pouch holster. Seven and a half inch barrel, not a short gun. A dark gripped backup in an old style shoulder holster showed both to probably be Remington Model 1875s. And carrying a long barreled Winchester model '73.

And, redefining the phrase 'deadly good looks'. Dark complected, blue eyes, and...

_'Well, fuck me,'_ Still Small said. _'If we was gay, I'd fuck him. Best keep Cordy on a leash. Better yet, hogtied.'_

Heh. She'd kill us both. No matter how hot the idea of a tied up, naked Cordy might be.

"And Dewell McKay, damn. Beginning to _feel_ like the South Dakota Badlands 'round here," Rory said. "C'mon. I'll introduce y'all to some old friends of mine."

Well, fuck. He hadn't even _begun_ to introduce Cordy to the Desperado movies yet.


	5. The Gang's All Here, Unfortunately

**Chapter Four: The Gang's All Here, Unfortunately...**

* * *

"_Relax, the universe _is_ out to get you.__"_ ― Walter Slovotsky

* * *

He'd already decided, Xander thought. Whoever put them here, Xander was gonna _kill_ them. Slow. Assuming that he and Cordelia _survived_ this...

Hell. And he hadn't even gotten his bath yet. Dammit.

He trailed back slightly as Rory led them across, Cordelia still hanging onto his bicep and looking a bit shell shocked. Not a quick process, crossing the street. You had to watch for people, horses, horse, uh, exhaust, and the odd car or wagon. Kinda like real life, only with horseshit.

Come to think of it, real life was like that too, so not so different.

They trailed up in time to hear "Dude" saying, "Well, hell. John T. Glad you could make it," with a broad grin. The grin dimmed a bit as he nodded to the other one and added, "And Dewell. A surprise."

Then Rory was striding up and saying, "Well, well. There's six six of piled high and ugly I haven't seen this side of the Badlands in years. John T. Chance."

That got a piercing look from the faded blue eyes, followed by a smile that transformed the forbidding looking craggy face into something warm and friendly.

"I'll be damned," John Chance said. "Well, hell. Rory Harris. You mean no one's hung you yet?"

"Hey. Stayin' ahead of a rope's my specialty, John. You know that," Rory said. "And Dewell McKay. Heard an unreliable rumor Marshall Dude was sending out for professional help. Shoulda known it'd be you two hyenas."

"Rory," McKay gave Xander's uncle a lopsided half smile. "Sorry. Not me. Expect I'm working for the other guys, I'm afraid."

Ah. Explained Dude's comment. And, damn. Things just got a whole lot more deadly out.

Chance cut him a sidelong glance and a wry smile. "Well, hell, son. Always time to change your mind."

McKay looked thoughtful, and then gave the wry smile back and shook his head. "Nah," he said. "Can't. Man shouldn't take a contract and then welsh without even trying it on for size."

"Fair 'nuff," Chance nodded, looking regretful. "You change you mind or decide you don't like who you're working with, look me up. Won't pay, but there's a better than even chance of getting dead, so that won't matter."

"Can't beat that," McKay agreed, looking amused.

Dude nodded. "Pity, that. I hear you're good."

"Way it breaks, some days. No hard feelings?"

"Long as you don't have any when I kill you," Dude said, smiling.

McKay grinned. "Doubt I'll be caring much after that. Later." He glanced Cordelia and Xander's way and touched his hat brim. "Ma'am."

Cordelia nodded reflexively, then shivered so hard Xander could feel it in his bicep through her hands. "Damn," she said, her eyes following McKay around back to untie his horse. "Very pretty man. But he gives me the cold shivers."

Rory grinned at her. Chance nodded to her, and touched his hat brim as well. "Never heard him called 'pretty' before, but he does get the ladies," Chance said. He paused, looking thoughtful, then added, "As far as the shivers go, Miss – that's one stone killer."

"John T., Marshall," Rory said. "Like to introduce you to my nephew, Xander Harris, and his, uh... Fiancée?"

"Promised, anyway," Cordelia said, smiling.

"Promised gal, Cordelia Chase," Rory finished.

"Ma'am," Dude said, touching his hat. He gave her a sharp look. "Any relation to... "

"Distant, kind of," Cordelia said, nodding. Xander sighed inwardly – from her expression, he figured she'd determined that she'd be getting a _lot_ of that from here on in.

Hands were shaken, and Xander was glad to see that neither of them were bone crushers. He liked that. Not weak or limp – just a firm man's shake from guys who really didn't _have_ to prove anything.

"Cordy here says my nephew is thinking of entering the big Shoot," Rory said.

Xander snorted, widened his eyes slightly, and said, "I am?" Cordelia poked him in the side and he gave her a lopsided grin. He saw John T. and Dude's eyes flick over his rig and the two rifle scabbards, assessing them – and him.

He apparently passed muster.

Chance said, "Well, hell. Might do that myself. Give it a shot or three, anyhow. Rifle, at least." He smiled, "Not so good with a short gun anymore."

Somehow, Xander had his doubts on that one. Up close, the "yellow handle" grips were yellowed stag, worn almost smooth from possibly _decades_ of use. Then again, he remembered the Duke saying that line in Rio Bravo to Colorado, that he carried a carbine for serious social interactions once he'd discovered a lot of men were faster and better than him with a handgun, so...

"You in this time?" Dude said, looking to Rory.

"Oh no. Not me," Rory said. "I'm like tall, broad and ugly here – _way_ too old for riding the river."

Cordelia laughed, and Chance glared at him. "Hey! I'm not _that_ old, buzzard bait. Like to think I have a few rivers left in me."

"Sure. Whatever helps you sleep better, John," Rory said, grinning.

Dude snorted. "Too old," he said, glancing at Rory's nice looking Winchester. "That'd be why you took grand prize two years ago, huh?'

"Hey. Aged a lot in two years."

"Aww. You're not old, Rory," Cordelia said. "Just... seasoned, that's it."

"Yeah. Like a coyote steak over a buffalo chip fire," Chance said.

"Now, that hurts. Truly."

They reached the grand stands and firing lines, and the tables where a lot of people seemed to be signing up for the big shoot. There were signs and banners all over announcing: "PRIZES PRIZES PRIZES GALORE!" Xander could see why Rory hadn't seemed concerned about shooting down his kid's insistence on heading directly here: it looked like all this would still be going strong well into the evening.

Xander gave Cordelia his arm, and followed Rory and the others over to where a barker was announcing the upcoming first event: the Pistolero Competitions.

He found himself standing near a fellow who looked a bit like a young Steve McQueen would if McQueen had been born in the old west. Complete to faded denim shirt, old jeans and boots – and a mare's leg in a thigh holster.

Not a trick rig like in the TV show. A formed leather pouch that covered the gun up to the loading gate, but was cut low enough in front to still look fast.

The guy looked Xander over, nodded once, met Xander's eyes and caught his own appraisal, and grinned. Xander liked him on sight.

The Contest Barker was holding his hands up for silence, or at least quite, and when he got enough of it, he started in: "All righty! Now – Grand Prize in the Pistolero competition is this custom _made_ limited edition Hamilton-Grover Single Action – engraved and serial numbered 000101. Yes sir! Fully engraved and with custom ivory grips. One of the finest handguns in existence, and we're _lucky_ to have this one to give to some fortunate winning soul. I'd wager there's not another Hamilton-Grover in the entire state of California!"

Xander tapped the butt of his own single action, and said, quietly, "You'd lose." McQueen's weathered twin brother glanced over at him and grinned.

The Contest Barker then yelled out, "And First prize to some lucky – and _skilled_ – man is $500 in brand new minted Double Gold Eagles. Second Prize: $200 in Gold Certificate. And, finally – the consolation and Third Prize is $50 plus a box of cartridges to replace what you've wasted here!" There was laughter from the assembled crowd at that.

Cordelia grabbed Xander's bicep again. "Enter the damned contest, Doof!" She swatted him on the chest.

Xander raised his eyebrow, "But I don't _need_ another handgun... "

Cordelia gave him a withering eye-roll, and huffed. "We need the _gold_, idiot."

_'Ah. That's ou__r__ gal,'_ Still Small said. _'Eyes always on the _important_ things in life. But she is not wrong... '_

Greedy little vixen, isn't she? The little Scriptwriter's input reminded Xander that their little trip down to Oz had netted them $5,000 gold from the Rancher's Association, less cost of travel and expenses. Huh. Neat.

_'Still – you _may_ actually be stuck here, dumb ass,'_ Still Small reminded him. _'Every nickle might help, long run. Cordelia's a high maintenance gal.'_

"I could use a new six-gun," McQueen clone said.

"Hey," Xander grinned. "I win it, I'll trade you for the gold. Gotta keep the little woman happy." Cordelia huffed again and swatted him on the arm.

McQueen pursed his lips, "I could use the gold, too."

Shrugging, Xander said, "Can't help you there." Couldn't keep calling the guy by his resemblance. He stuck his hand out and said, "By the way: Xander Harris."

That got a slight half smile and a hand back. "Vince."

"Vince," Xander said, nodding. "And this is Cordelia," he said, indicating her. Vince tapped his hat brim.

"Ma'am." Vince smiled at Cordelia and got the genuine Pepsodent commercial smile back. "Friends generally call me Vin."

Xander nodded. "Name's Xander, but my friends generally call me... Xander."

"Fancy that."

Cordelia gave a derisive and unladylike snort, "It _so_ is not. Xander's short for Alexander," she said. "Don't mind him – he wanted to be a comedian when he grew up, but a complete lack of the funny killed that ambition."

Vince grinned back at her. "Best laid plans, I guess."

Chance looked over at them and glanced down at Vince's holster. "Interesting looking rig there. Not many men carry a cut down rifle."

Vince shrugged. "Mare's Leg. Draws a bit slower than a handgun, but it hits a bit harder. As my pappy used to say: it all evens out in the wash."

"Hard to shoot?" Rory gave it a sharp look.

Another shrug. "You get used to it." Damn – the man made _Oz_ look like a fountain of words...

"Why a 'Mare's Leg'?" Dude asked, curiously.

Xander glanced at him and said, deadpan, "Because Hog-leg was taken already."

Vince pointed, grinning, and said, "What he said."

Dude snorted, and said, "You any good with it?"

That got a quiet smile. "I get by."

Still Small snorted in the back of Xander's mind. _'I'll bet. Don't fuck with the quiet ones.'_

Dude looked like he shared the same opinion, 'cause he gave a short approving nod. "Tor Hauer carries one of those," he said, "but it's a cut down Colt Lightning pump."

After a short wait for the crowd murmurs, discussion, and initial betting to die down, the contest barker began to announce the events and specifics, and Xander – along with everyone else – sharpened their attention to catch the details.

* * *

Sign up moved pretty quickly for the number of people intending to shoot. Should – they had five tables set up to handle the lines.

Admittedly, once people had taken a good look at the competition, the lines had thinned considerably, in a hurry. They'd shortened almost by a third by the time Xander and Vince joined the shortest one. He made a comment about that, and Dude nodded to him.

"Some of these folks have reps not many want to shoot against, even on targets. They figure they'll be wasting their time," Dude said.

"Silly, really," Vince said. "Paper don't shoot at you. World of difference."

Dude shrugged, nodding his agreement. Xander noted that he'd stepped to the side from the line they were in, and raised an eyebrow. "You're not shooting?"

Dude smiled, tapping his badge. "Marshall – I'm disqualified on account of being a city em-ploy-ee."

"Ah." Xander nodded. Made sense. He looked around, and frowned.

Wilkins was seated at the main judges and sponsors table, along with several others of what looked like some of the town's Notable Citizenry. He saw Jack O'Toole standing off to one side of the sign up lines along with Kyle DuFours, Rhonda, Tor Hauer, and Heidi Barrie. And a couple of people he didn't recognize...

Heh. Gang's all here. A pity, that.

"Dude," Xander said, quietly, catching the Marshall's attention. "Mayor Tricky Dick is one of the judges?"

"Hah. Tricky Dick – I like that," Dude said, grinning. Nice thing about being in the past in movie land: old jokes were new, even old Nixon jokes recycled to fit the Mayor. "Yeah," he said. "And one of the sponsors: he donated the Grand Prize for the Rifle competition – ordered it himself from New Haven, rumor has it."

"Well, Richard Wilkins always was a civic minded fellow," Xander said. Dude made a derisive snort, but didn't say anything to that.

Reaching the table, Xander paid his ten dollar entry fee and accepted a pin on button that had a red and white target circle with five bullet holes inked in. He nodded, said his thanks, and pinned it on.

"Third of all entry fees go into the pot with the prize monies. You win or place, and you get some of yours back with a bit of everyone else's," the sign up guy said in a bored monotone. Xander nodded and stepped out of the way.

Paying his fee, Vince began to pin on his entry button. One of the judges standing to the side stepped up to him, holding up a hand.

"Hold it," he said. "You can't use that... thing. This is a _pistol_ competition."

Vince glanced down at his holster rig, and back up, frowning slightly. "Huh. And here I was thinking this was a pistol. Sort of."

"It's the 'sort of' that bothers me, son," the judge said, scowling. "I don't think cut down rifles are allowed by the rules."

Someone else stepped up to them, nodding to the judge and Vince. "There a problem?"

_'Holy crap, it's Brett Maverick!'_ Still Small exclaimed.

Heh. Not quite, but damned close to being Mister Wyatt Earp himself. Or near enough to be his closely related brother. he was wearing a black, nineteenth century suit over a floral pattered blue vest with the jacket just barely showing a pair of pistols in a shoulder rig under the coat. And a long barreled Colt in a belt holster.

The judge was explaining the situation, Maverick's brother nodding occasionally. He looked Vince over, and shrugged.

He drew a seven and a half inch barreled Colt Target from his belt holster, saying, "This'll settle it. Here. Use mine."

"Thanks. You sure?" Vince accepted the pistol with a raised eyebrow.

"Hell, I'm not entering." The other man grinned. "I'm a contest judge and sponsor – not allowed," he said. "Brett Halliday."

Vince nodded and raised pistol to look down the sights. "Much obliged. How's it shoot?"

Brett smiled. "Generally where the sights are looking."

Vince said, "Good quality to have in a handgun," smiling back. He accepted the belt holster to go with it, and stepped away from the table, reaching up to pin on his entry badge. The other judge, apparently satisfied, nodded and went back to observing.

"Saw you and your friend here talking with Marshall Dude, and figured you might be a good risk," Brett said, nodding to the Marshall.

"The young 'un's Rory Harris' nephew," Dude said. "Outta be all right."

"That a fact?" Halliday looked Xander over, smiled, and extended a hand. "Pleased." Xander shook with him, saying it was likewise. Still slightly boggled, despite rapidly having become inured to seeing people out of Western movie history walking around all over the place...

"Brett owns the Paradise Saloon here," Dude stated. He smirked, adding, "And his wife runs it for him."

"Just 'cause I have more of a head for cards than for business," Halliday said, smiling.

Cordelia slipped her hand through his arm, having come up to join them, and Xander introduced her as well.

"Ma'am."

"My oh my," a voice said from behind and off to one side of them. "If it isn't Rory Harris' punk nephew. Have a good run, boy?"

Xander turned slowly, suddenly glad Cordelia had taken his _left_ arm. He _knew_ that voice, way way too well.

From both real life and the memory flashes the Scriptwriter kept feeding him...

_'The plot thickens,'_ Still Small murmured in the back of his head. _'Or is that sickens? I forget.'_

Same difference. Xander patted Cordelia's hand and stepped forward a bit, putting himself between her and the voice's owner. For once, she didn't huff and step right back up.

"Heh. Jackal the Tool," Xander said, his brain to mouth filter apparently picking this exact moment to go offline. He felt a half grin slide across his lips, unbidden.

Jack's face clouded over, and standing slouched next to him, Kyle DuFours and Rhonda Kelly stiffened. Standing back and a little ways off to one side, Heidi leaning comfortably into his side, Tor Hauer tipped Xander an ironic two finger salute. Heidi outright grinned at him.

Yeah, well, Tor and Heidi hadn't ever been the _complete_ wastes of skin and breathable air that Jack and Kyle were...

"It's _Jack_," O'Toole said, his voice gone suddenly all quiet and strained.

"That's what I said: Jerk," Xander said, his half grin slowly growing a bit broader. "Off."

He felt more than saw Vince step quietly up to his other side, one of his eyebrows going up. Heidi gave a short bark of outright laughter at that, and Jack and Kyle both shot her nasty looks.

Jack's face reddened slightly, and Xander wondered where the sudden near suicidal bravado was coming from. He'd always been terrified of the little sociopath in the real world. Here too, he recalled... _'Incoming message from the __screenwriter__,'_ Still Small said, _'Prepare to __receive__ transmission... '_

The brief flood of input hit him from the recesses of his mind, and Xander stiffened, his half grin turning into a decided sneer. Ah. _That's_ why.

He didn't have to look now to know that the reason Cordelia hadn't stepped up was because she'd probably turned somewhat pale on seeing Jack and Kyle right behind them. Xander's eyes went suddenly cold.

"Look, Harris," Jack began, taking a step forward, chin thrust out.

"You want something?" Xander drawled, his right wrist caressing the butt of the big Hamilton-Grover. Jack almost spluttered, looking like he was choking on something.

"Yeah, we do," Kyle said from beside him. Kyle was no longer slouching. "Lots of people have money on favorites – favorites who aren't _you_, Harris. Might want to consider dropping out."

Jack nodded, still red looking. "Or maybe not shooting so well, if you don't."

"Ah." Xander nodded, visibly pausing for thought. Their eyebrows went up, and he said, "I've considered." He leaned forward slightly, and stage whispered, "Fuck off and die."

Tor started laughing quietly along with Heidi. Jack went from slightly red to all the way, and his hand dropped to rest on his pistol butt.

Dude stepped between them, his Coach Gun held easily across his body, not quite pointing at anyone. "All right, O'Toole. You had your say," he said. "Now. Move it on before I realize I just heard you try to influence the contest and figure out a charge for that."

Jack flushed, and glared at him. "You can't say that to me."

"Just did," Dude remarked. "_And_ I said: move on."

"You wouldn't even dare."

Dude's twelve gauge came off the right hand to rest on his hip, muzzles centered on Jack's forehead. Next to Jack, Kyle sucked in a breath.

The maneuver had been so smooth, it hadn't even looked all that fast.

"Try me."

Jack blinked, and then held his hands up, palms out – and _away_ from his guns. "All right. But the Mayor won't like this."

"Man's entitled to his likes and dislikes," Dude drawled. "So am I. Now, move it. Won't ask again."

After a long moment's stare down – that Jack lost – he gave a jerky nod and began stepping back.

"Hold it," Brett Halliday's voice cut over, and everyone froze. Halliday dug something out of his vest pocket and tossed it to Jack, a pair of ten dollar gold pieces bouncing off his chest and hitting the dirt. "Your and DuFours' entry fees. You're disqualified."

Jack stared at him too, then gave that jerky nod again. He spun on his heel, stalking off like an affronted cat, his posse trailing along behind him. Rhonda paused long enough to scramble and scoop up the two gold pieces, and then hustled away after, glancing back nervously at the big coach gun.

Tor and Heidi paused a bit, Tor saying, "Harris," and tipping that ironic salute to him again. Xander nodded.

"Welcome back," Heidi said. "And Cordelia." They turned off and headed after Jack and the others.

Beside him, he heard Cordelia let out a long, shuddering breath. "Hoo boy."

"What was that all about?" Vince asked, his voice mildly curious.

"Oh... " Xander let out a long breath of his own, forcing his muscles to relax. And _himself_ not to faint. "Long about four years ago, I'd just turned eighteen, Cordy seventeen the January before. O'Toole and Kyle caught Cordy alone in town one night and got a bit... friendly. And frisky. In a kind of a way that, like, wasn't. Jesse saw them pulling her off and went to see about it. Alone... "

It hadn't quite been rape, but only just. And only attempted, but only because a group of drovers had passed by the between buildings space where they'd pulled Cordy off to, and investigated, getting incensed when they'd figured things out...

So what if it didn't really happen? _Here_, and in his mind, and down in his guts, it _had_. And no one messed with his girls...

"Not Tor. He was trying to talk Jack and Kyle down when some cowboys broke it up and I pulled loose and ran," Cordy said, her voice ragged and quiet. "Jesse tried to stop it. Jack cut him, maybe by accident, kind of. Kyle... Kyle's gun went off. Jesse didn't make it." She drew another ragged breath, and continued, "Xander took an ax handle to them both two days later in church. Knocked Jack all concussed and broke Kyle's leg and ribs. He thought he'd killed Jack."

Yeah. And that evening, he and Cordy had been on the trail out of town with whatever belongings they'd pulled together, and five of the best horses from Rory's herd...

"Ah. And that's when the two of y'all lit out of town," Halliday said, nodding. "I remember hearing something about that, now."

"And the Sheriff didn't do anything about it?" Dude raised his eyebrows.

"Bob _Munroe?_" Xander laughed harshly. "Said it wasn't his jurisdiction since it happened in town. Even back then he was a fat slob who was scared to death of O'Toole and his pack. And the then Marshall wasn't any better – he was as deep in Wilkins' pocket as Munroe."

"Kinda surprised you came back," Vince said, mildly.

Cordelia gave him a shaky looking smile and said, "So am I, now."

"Sooner or later, you decide not to run any more," Xander said, with a shrug he didn't quite feel.

"That is a fact," Vince said.

"You're going to kill him," Dude said, "I'd appreciate your doing it all legal like so that I don't have to let Sheriff Bob hang you."

Cordelia gave Xander a sharp look, with a faint worried frown attached, and Xander shrugged easily and said, "Oh – if Jack and Kyle don't bother me or Cordy, I'm easy. I'll let it all stay in the past where it belongs."

"Oh? How likely you figure?" Vince said.

Another shrug. "I give it, oh, odds at about the sum total of fuck all, personally," Xander said. "But, always hope for the best – "

"– And expect the worst," Dude said, nodding.


	6. The Quick and the Not so Dead

**Chapter Five: The Quick and the Not so Dead...**

* * *

"_I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my __advisers__ assure me it is impossible for them to win.__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

"All right!" the Contest Announcer held his hands up for quiet. "To remind you all: first event is Fast Draw for Speed. Contestants will shoot in groups of five, with contest judges watching and timing. Target will be wooden pins on a table, distance will be seven yards! Winner will be the shooter who clears the most pins with three shots in the shortest amount of time, starting from the holster! Accuracy counts, as you can see – but the objective is speed! Winner gets $50 in Prize money, plus a chance at the Grand Prizes, as do the Runners Up!"

He held his hands up again as the crowd noise began to start up. "And you will note! A single toe beyond the yellow painted firing line will be a _Dis_qualification! All shooters will stand behind the line!" He dropped his hands, and the crowd started up as people began to place side wagers on favorites.

Xander stole a quick kiss from Cordelia for luck, and winked at her.

Let's see. They'd gotten into town early mid morning. Call it, oh, a bit before eight-ish. Bumping into Rory and Bethany. Then time spent stabling the horses, meeting Dude and John T, getting signed in... call it about ten-ish. Gonna have to get himself a pocket watch if they stuck around much longer.

Call it eleven or so, and already it was shaping up to be a grueling day of intense shooting. And he _still_ hadn't had his bath yet. Dammit. At least they'd gotten some breakfast...

At least the very first events had been an elimination round that pared down the contestants from around five hundred to about a hundred worth shooting against, and four hundred also rans and grumbling wanna bees. Five shots at an Ace of Spades at twenty yards and fifty for Target, pistol and rifle. And three shots at fifteen from the holster, or from the shoulder with rifle, speed draw plus accuracy, to clear a table of bowling pins in the least amount of time.

Out of the hundred or so left, Xander was kinda surprised he was still one of them. The competition was fierce – some of these people were _good_, damned good, with handgun or a Winchester. He tipped an ironic one finger salute to Glenn and Kev at the other end of the firing line. They'd made the eliminations also.

And they'd had baths even, damn them. Xander grinned to himself.

Bowling pins. He vaguely remembered _his_ uncle Rory mentioning something like this from _his_ competition and sport shooting days. Ten groups with ten or eleven shooters per firing line, several judges with stop watches monitoring each group. Cowboy Action Shooting or something like? Hell, he didn't even realize they _had_ bowling pins back in the late 1800's. Maybe they only did in Western movie land...

Xander checked his right hand single action over, spinning the cylinder to check the loads and working the hammer twice. Xander spun the revolver back into the holster and nodded to the judge, seeing from the corner of his eye Vince doing the same next to him as he stepped up to the next spot on the firing line.

For someone who said that he was too rusty to do more than 'get by' with a regular pistol, the man was damned fast and accurate.

"Been a long time since I used a regular handgun," Vince remarked.

Xander shrugged, and said. "They say it's like riding a bicycle."

"Never rode one."

Xander shrugged again. "Can't help you there," he said. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "Ignoring the elimination rounds and the evidence of my own lying eyes... You any good with one when you did use one?"

Vince smiled. "I got by."

_'I'll just bet he did,' _Still Small said.

The starter pistol went off, and Xander's hand blurred to the grip of the big revolver...

.

"Not bad, kid," Dude told him, clapping him on the shoulder. Chance nodded, grinning at him, as was Cordelia, with her best thousand watter.

His opponent in the ten and then fifteen yard shoot off for first place, Deke Matthews something or other, looking like a younger James Coburn, glowered at him as he stalked off. Well, fuck him, too. Man was fast, but not as accurate. But still... accurate enough to tie Xander twice for number of pins and speed...

Vince had won the fast draw in grand place. Like he'd said: man was damned fast and accurate with a short gun. Xander'd almost like to see what he could do with that mare's leg.

_'Well, except that that'd involve a gunfight, most likely,'_ Still Small remarked, _'And we'd rather avoid that.'_

Yup. Damn straight.

"Good shooting, Xan," Tor Hauer's voice said from one side. Xander glanced over to see him and Heidi walking up to their little group. Cordelia smiled at them, but it wasn't nearly the genuine article...

"Thanks." Xander nodded, taking Tor's outstretched hand. Damn. He'd forgotten just exactly how much sheer sexual impact Heidi Barrie had. She wasn't the best looking girl in Sunnydale, but she made up for it in sheer, uh, animal sensuality. "Heidi."

"Yup," Heidi nodded back, smiling. "_Nice_ work there, Harris."

"And, again, thank yew, thank yew, thank yew verra much," Xander said in his best Elvis impersonation. "But aren't Jack and Kyle gonna have cows at you consorting with the enemy?"

Tor snorted. "Friends with Jack, Harris."

"He doesn't _own_ us," Heidi said –

"Fuck him if he don't like it," Tor finished.

Heh. Xander had also forgotten Tor and Heidi's disconcerting habit of finishing each other's thoughts and sentences, like one mind in two bodies. A knack that had only intensified after the hyena thing...

Xander nodded. Nice to know. "Anyway, we're spectators from here on in," Tor said.

Heidi smiled, "Field's too rich for our blood, yep." She winked at him, "Luck."

"Thanks," Xander said, Cordelia moving up to take his arm on the wink, and smile at the shorter girl. Tor and Heidi had just made it past the eliminations, but had placed far enough back in the actual that it was clear that further shooting on their parts was just wasting ammo.

They were both fast and good, but in _this_ crowd, _just_ fast and good weren't good enough...

They moved off as Rory came up to add his congrats to Dude's, Chance's and Tor's. Cordelia watched them go, a slight frown creasing her brow. "You know," she said, her voice contemplative, "I either like them, or I don't."

"What I love about you: your decisiveness," Xander said, giving her a lopsided smile. She elbowed him just under the ribs.

"_You_ know what I mean." Xander nodded as Cordelia said, "That time I was caught crossing the lot behind Lee Fong's wasn't the first time they stepped between one of us and O'Toole and a beating or worse. Here or there."

Xander nodded again. Meaning here or in their world. He'd never been able to decide, growing up, whether to consider Tor and Heidi enemies like Kyle and Rhonda, or maybe not-quite-friends. Still couldn't...

The Barker called for the next round, Fast Draw Accuracy, and Xander leaned down slightly to grab a kiss for luck, disengaged her hand and moved off.

.

A judge blew a whistle signaling the end of the run, and Xander reined Rasputin in, sliding both pistols into their holsters. He nodded to the judge, and nudged the big horse into a trot to clear the firing course.

Mounted shoot. They'd saved for the last two handgun rounds the two most visually spectacular, for the entertainment of the spectators, after the relatively sedate slow fire target events. Six plywood silhouette targets, two shots each, placed at distances of seven to fifteen yards at intervals around a barrel racing course. Said course necessitating a reload unless you had two pistols... and even then, a reload for some. He'd picked the big appaloosa because he turned tighter and responded better to knee reining and body shifts, even if he wasn't trained as a cutting horse or barrel racer.

Next – and last before the rifle competition – was Aerial or Thrown shooting. Five one and a half inch clay balls filled with red powder thrown high into the air and out, to explode nicely and colorfully when hit. He'd never done this, that he recalled, in either reality – but, hell: it couldn't be much harder than head shooting running jack rabbits with his .32 Rimfire Long Colt SAA as a kid. A kid in this reality, at least...

Shoot off between Vince and Matthews for first place next. Xander was pretty sure he'd nailed Grand on this one. He'd always been a better than decent mounted shot on a good horse.

_'Here, anyway,'_ Still Small agreed. _'Not much opportunity for mounted shooting where we come from.'_

Uh huh. Xander reined up and slid out of the saddle, accepting a mug of cool water from a beaming Cordelia. He handed the reins to the kid who was leading off mounts to the horse line, to await him for later in the mounted rifle shoot.

Matthews gave him another glower as he and Vince trotted by on their way up to the course for the shoot off, at two-thirds size and then half sized (if needed) plywood silhouette targets. Well, fuck him again.

"Wow. I'm thinking that man doesn't like you," Cordelia said. "Or Vin."

"Heh." Rory said, laughing. "And small wonder. Deke Matthews' used to being the fastest and best pistolero in Sunnydale County these last three years. 'Ceptin' Dude here and me, of course. And now _both_ Xander and Vince been pushing him _awful_ hard to prove it."

"Yeah," Dude said. "And Matthews, he don't much like having to prove himself, less'n there's a body on the ground after. _Especially_ if he figures the body might stand a good chance of being his."

"Wonderful." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Just what Xander needs – another enemy besides Jack O'Toole," she said. "Only, like, one who's actually good with a gun."

"Well, that's why he has _you_ to protect him, darlin'," Rory drawled, batting his eyelashes at her.

"Oh?" Cordelia arched an eyebrow at him. "And who protects me?"

"That's what they pay Marshall Dude here the big bucks for," Rory said, grinning.

"Huh? Yeah," Dude said, snorting. "And just who protects _me_ from _her_?"

"You're on your own there, bud," Xander said, smiling. Cordelia thumped him on the shoulder, huffing.

.

"Congratulations," Vince told him, putting out his hand.

Xander shook it, but raised his eyebrows, "Hey – don't count my prize money before it hatches."

"Nah." Vince pushed his hat back on his head, frowning slightly. "Way I figure it, Garret managed to just squeak by on the Grand Prize. You've nailed first, and I suspect I'm either third or second."

Xander raised his eyebrows again. He'd been mostly concentrating on just shooting his best and staying in – he hadn't really been counting wins or actual point totals towards the Grand, First, Second, or Third in General Pistolero.

_'Huh. Let's see... Grand positions are worth five, first three, seconds two, and thirds and shoot offs one each, I think... '_ Still Small Voice whistled in the back of his mind. _'Hey__ – __the man with the funny looking gun just might be right.'_

Maybe yes, maybe no. Xander noticed that Cordy had the fingers on both hands crossed, Vince's gunbelt slung over one shoulder where she'd been holding it for him. He looked at her curiously, and she huffed.

"Vin best be right. I put good money down on you, Dork Head," Cordelia said.

"What? You mean... there's _gambling_ in _Sunnydale_?" Xander let his eyes widen comically. "I'm shocked – _shocked__,_ I say."

"Oh, shut up," Cordelia told him, rolling her eyes.

"What kind of odds?" Vince asked. She told him, and he whistled softly. So did Xander.

"Hush, now, you three," Rory said. "They're announcing."

Xander nodded. He noted that Matthews and Dewell McKay had moved up to their little group, along with Kevin and Glenn. Made sense. The six of them, along with Chance and a couple of others, were the most probable to be in the winner's circle at the end here.

Deke Matthews smirked at them. "Well, prepare to read 'em and weep, boys."

"That's all right," Xander said, easily. "My fiancée tells me I wanted the money anyway."

Vince nodded. "She did. I heard her."

"You always do what your woman tells you, boy?" Matthews gave him that smirk again. Xander was _really_ starting to dislike that smirk... he reined in his temper and kept his face impassive.

He shrugged, squeezing Cordelia's shoulder, "Only when I want to stay healthy and happy," Xander said. Cordelia grinned up at him.

The main Contest Judge held up his hands and the crowd quieted. "All right, the best hand in the show so far!" He held up a double sized Ace of Spades: "Long Range target, main round shoot offs: Cloverleaf! Five, centered, can be covered by a quarter!"

He held up the next card, Xander's, Xander thought. "And a near cloverleaf at fifty paces! Three centered, one inside, one cutting the inside edge of the spade!"

Followed by another card, Vince's, "And, the Runner up! Two centered, one in, two just cutting the outside edge of the spade!"

There were groans and/or cheers as money began to exchange hands in the crowd.

The Contest Judge said, "Which makes it... " A drumroll began to thrum next to the announcer's podium. "For fast draw, the stranger with the weird gun. First Place shoot off between Harris and Matthews, winner... Xander Harris! Thrown: the Stranger! Mounted: Xander Harris, with 1st Place tie and shoot off – Stranger and Deke Matthews, shoot off to Deke Matthews! Ten paces draw and fire: Xander Harris with fifteen yard shoot off between Harris and Matthews; Winner – Xander Harris! Ten and twenty-five yard target, Harris and Matthews with both shoot offs to Matthews – Grand Winner Deke Matthews!"

Cordelia grabbed Xander's arm and jumped up to plant one on him, grinning and bouncing enthusiastically. Deke Matthews grinned sourly at them.

The Contest Judge held up his hands for quiet again, "Points: 27, 23, 19, and 9; Matthews, Harris, Stranger, and McKay. That makes it: Grand Prize to Deke Matthews of Silverlode Mining!" There were cheers and boos at that. A few more boos than cheers, maybe, but it was hard to tell... "First Prize goes to the new Kid, Xander Harris." A few cheers followed that, more grumbles. Cordelia was one of the cheers, as was Rory.

"And, finally, Second Prize to... what was your name?"

Vince shrugged. "Didn't say. But it's Vince."

The Contest Judge gestured, "Second Prize to the taciturn stranger, Vince!"

Matthews smirked as Rory clapped Xander on the shoulder, and Kevin and Glenn stepped up to him, hands out. "Looks like the best man won," Matthews drawled, lighting a cigarette.

Vince shrugged. "On paper, anyway."

Matthews looked hard at Vince, and said, "Meaning?"

Vince shrugged again. "Paper don't shoot back."

With a snort, Matthews turned on his heel and headed up to the judges table.

With a slight head shake, Vince looked at Xander as he unbuckled Brett Halliday's gun belt from around his waist. "Don't mind him. You did good." He nodded, "Real good."

"Oh, believe me," Xander said, giving Vince a lopsided smile. "I don't mind him at all." He glanced over to one side where Cordelia had moved off a bit to accept money from people coming over to pay off bets, Rory glaring over her shoulder.

Just to keep them honest, Xander would bet.

Nod. "Gonna collect my rig from your lady, and then I'll hunt up Brett and give this back," Vince said, and he moved off. "See you in Rifle."

McKay offered him a hand. "Good shooting," he said. Xander accepted it, nodding.

"You too."

"Not good enough, apparently," the man had the wry smile down pat, but the blue eyes were twinkling. "Still, $50 and a box of .44-40's is better than a kick in the head."

"Sure and it is," Xander agreed. He glared at Kevin and Glenn. "And you! I hate you both."

Glenn jerked, his eyes narrowing. "Oh? And why is that?"

"You got _baths_," Xander said. "I'd _kill_ for a bath right now."

Kevin held his hands up, palm out. "Let's just back away slowly, partner. Never get between a man and a hot bath."

"Yeah, well, what you get for screwing around," Glenn said, laughing. He stuck his hand out. "Give you a chance to take it out of us in the Rifle Shoot."

"Deal."

* * *

Speaking of... Xander sharpened his attention as the contest announcer held up his hand for quiet and got it.

He held up a truly nice looking rifle, turning it slowly over his head for the crowd's viewing. "And in the Rifle Competition: Grand Prize is this brand new Winchester 1876 Commemorative model "One of One Thousand" in .50-95 Winchester Center-fire Express! Limited edition of _only_ one thousand made, and one of the very last _ever_ 1876 Winchesters that will ever leave the Hartford factory! With a Match Grade 30" half-round, half-octagonal barrel, checkered pistol grip stock and fore-end of select grade Eye-tal-yeen walnut! It has a seven leaf folding leaf Express rear sight, graduated, hooded ivory target bead front, a Marble tang sight for long range; engraved Royal Blue barrel, side-plate, and curved lever; and color case hardened frame and fore-end tip!

John T. Chance gave it an amused look. "Everything except a stock mounted coffee grinder."

"That'll be on the One of Twenty-thousand," Vince drawled.

Xander laughed, nodding. Still, _nice_ looking firearm. Not that he needed a rifle – and both of _his_ were _just_ as nice looking.

John T. gave the Winchester that Xander had balanced over his shoulder, barrel forward and held by a hand over the fore end, African carry style, a visual once over. He whistled softly.

"And speaking of," John T. said, "Fine looking weapon there, son. May I take a look, up close and personal?"

"Why, certainly, sir," Xander grinned. He gave Chance's Winchester a look as he jacked open the lever on his to demonstrate it was empty before handing it over. "Trade you – like a look at that one, too."

"Sure." Chance handed his over as he took Xander's in one big hand. "Nice. Winchester '86?"

Xander nodded, opening the breech on Chance's '94 to check the chamber. Empty, good. No need for any accidental discharges.

_'Yup. Because there's two types of people in the world,'_ Still Small said. _'Those who've had an AD, and those who haven't yet.'_

Xander grinned at his internal voice. And, nice. Very good figured walnut with a case hardened fore-end cap and curved butt plate. Silvered receiver and barrel bands to the royal blued barrel. And the big loop lever... It had a silver medallion like an oversized silver dollar set into the stock with a raised relief of John T.'s head and shoulders, and the words, "From the Grateful People of El Dorado, Republic of Texas, to John T. Chance, January 31, 1896," engraved around the mounting. The silvered receiver was also engraved with the same slogan, as well as mention of a few other notable places around the west, and a scene of Chance and another man riding together on one side, and a stagecoach and team passing before some buttes on the other. The buck horn rear sight had been removed and the dovetail filled in, and it'd been replaced with a receiver mounted peep sight. There was a folding tang peep sight for long range, as well.

"Huh. .32-40 Winchester Center-fire?" Xander asked. Chance nodded, a bit absently, examining Xander's gun closely.

"Yup." Chance shouldered Xander's rifle, the schutzen butt plate socketing into his shoulder and his cheekbone molding to the cheek-piece as he looked down the sights. "Sweet," he said, taking the gun down and, almost reluctantly, it seemed, trading it back for his. "'Cept for the engraving, this is every bit as nice as our grand prize there."

"Xander won it and the long rifle in a card game in Reno," Cordelia said, sounding... almost proud of him. Xander gave her a bemused look, and a half smile.

"Yeah," he said. "Belonged to an Englishman who had them special made, and then decided the 'Wild Wild West' was a bit _too_ uncivilized for him, don't chew know. So he put them up for stakes when he started losing, hoping to win back enough to get him back to New York." Xander snickered, adding, "He probably ended up _walking_ back to NYC – he couldn't bluff worth a damn."

Cordelia nodded, grinning, and Chance, Dude, and Vince laughed.

Vince gave Chance's Winchester an appreciative once over, and soft whistle. "Yours is a nice looking rifle."

"Thanks."

Dude raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit fancier than the one you used to carry," he said.

"Still have the pair of those, cased up," Chance said, shrugging, "People of El Dorado had it made up and presented to me. One to J.P. Harrah, also."

Dude laughed, "Hell, all I ever got from the people of Rio Bravo was my forty a month and found," he said. "I had to have mine made up for me. Hey – I wired J.P. along with you and Colorado. Kind of expected him. Ramsey, too."

"Well," Chance pushed back his hat, "Don't know about Heck, but Harrah sent me a telegram sayin' he was hung up with something down in Mescalero. And Colorado managed to get hisself killed down in Fort Worth."

"Damn," Dude said. "I liked him. What happened?"

"Got into an argument with Wes Hardin."

"Ouch," Vince said. "I wouldn't argue with Hardin, less'n I had to."

Xander nodded, and said, "Don't mind my asking... What'd you do in El Dorado?"

"Nothing special," Chance said, shrugging. "Killed a few people." Cordelia winced.

Vince asked, casually, "They need killing?"

"Generally."

"Well, there you go, then," Vince said.

Dude suggested, "Try not to kill any here, John T."

"Try not to make me have to," Chance, said, smiling.

Vince said, still looking at the rifle. "Knew a fella a ways back in Lincoln County, near Northfork, who carried a big loop Winchester like that."

"That a fact?"

"Yup. Faster with it than most with a handgun. Was a good man to ride the river with."

"Was?" Xander raised an eyebrow. "What? He run into someone faster?"

"Nope," Vince said, deadpan. "Went and caught a bad case of marriage."

Xander nodded, equally deadpan "Ah." (beat) "That's been the death of a lot of good men, I hear." Cordelia huffed and swatted him one, glaring.

Chance gave Vince's gun a bemused look. "Old Winchester '66 Yellow Boy. Don't see many of those any more."

"Nope."

Chance said, "Good gun in its day."

Vince shrugged "I'm kinda hoping this one's day is still here... "

That got a laugh. "Don't see many of those around any more. Most seem to have traded up to '92's or newer."

Vince said, "Most can afford newer rifles," and shrugged again. "I'm planning to trade up," he said, glancing up at the Announcer.


	7. You Can Get More With a Kind Word -

**Chapter Six: ****You Can Get More With a Kind Word and a Gun (Than You Can With a Kind Word Alone)**

* * *

"_Ruling classes are good for some things: keeping the number of other predators low is one of them__"_ ― Walter Slovotsky

* * *

Xander took a deep breath, let out half of it, his finger gradually taking up pressure on the set trigger as he let out the other half slowly. The big Winchester High-wall bucked against his shoulder suddenly and unexpectedly, the way it was supposed to.

The trigger always breaks without your expecting it, if you're doing it right.

And that one had been _right_. The shot had had that sweet feel they get where you just know it's going home, even before you look at the target, see the buck stumble, or the man fall... way out there in the distance.

All five of the shots in that last group had had that feel to them. He almost didn't need the caller to tell him he'd just won the final shoot off between him and Ned Lazenby of the Bar-G Ranch. He put his hat back on, and lifted the rifle off the short shooting sticks as he stood up from prone.

Last and, hopefully, final shoot off of the long range competition. Five shots, five hundred yards. Next would be at seven hundred and fifty, if he and Lazenby tied again. Damn, but the man was _good_ with that long barreled, scope sighted 1886...

Not _quite_ as good as Vince, though, even if you _wouldn't_ want to live or die on the difference. But a bit luckier, or else Vince's borrowed Sharps wasn't quite just as "on" today as Lazenby and Xander's rifles were. Oh well: sometimes, it's not a matter of who's _better_...

Just who happens to be having a better day.

There'd already been a number of Shoot Offs during the long range rifle competition. One between Dewell McKay with his own long barreled Winchester Hi-Wall, Glenn Scott, and some guy from Silverlode Mining named Nicholas Sharp, with a heavy big fifty Sharps-Borchardt, for Third. One between Vince, Kevin, and some other guy whose name Xander didn't catch to nail down second place. One between Xander, Lazenby, and Vince for First, just in case either Lazenby or Xander didn't take Grand.

Else First automatically went to one of them. Their last groups in main were _that_ much better than anyone else's behind them in the line up, and Vince had blown out in the first place shoot off, nailing second...

And now the third of several between Lazenby and Xander for Grand Prize in the long range target. A separate event from the main, General Rifle, with its own prize scale. But the points counted in towards the totals for General Rifle...

Off a ways, Xander could hear the rolling booms from the shotgun competition. Last round maybe, or near to it. He'd heckled Cordelia to enter in it, but she hadn't cared for the idea, claiming that she didn't know anything about black powder shotguns. Xander figured she just didn't care for the idea of the Live Pigeon Shoot in the final round.

Then one of the guys at the sign up table for Shotgun had said something about _women_ not being allowed to compete, and _that_ settled _that_. You wanna make damned sure Cordelia Chase does something, just try and tell her she isn't _allowed_ to. Especially because of her _gender_...

Xander figured that unless there were some _awfully_ good wing shooters in the shotgunning, that shot gunner Grand Prize, a silver inlaid J.P. Sauer & Sohn Back Action Hammer Drilling, was as good as hers. He grinned.

"You don't miss often," Vince said, as Xander came to a halt next to him, long rifle balanced easily across his shoulder.

"Heh." Xander half smiled. "Neither do you," he said.

Vince shrugged. "When I was growing up, you didn't hit, then you often didn't eat."

Xander nodded, and he said, "Yeah. A lot of the places me and Cordy have been, not hitting usually involved a lower life expectancy."

"That do tend to center the concentration a bit," Vince said. He looked at his own rifle, with a faint disgust. "But that fellow's rifle doesn't seem to hit quite as often as I do."

Vince had borrowed the Sharps from another long range contestant who'd blown out in the first round of shooting. Rented, actually – he'd paid the guy ten dollars for the use of it. It was a nice, long barreled deluxe Sharps – what Xander always considered "the Quigley Sharps". Thirty-four inch barrel, .45-140-3 ¼", and a pistol grip stock, with a level on the front sight and a long range peep rear on the tang.

"Happens," Lazenby said, coming up beside them. He'd evidently overheard part of the discussion, walking up, because he pushed his battered hat back and said, "I hide hunted as a kid, for awhile. You didn't hit, you didn't get paid. And cartridges for the big Sharps rifles were expensive."

"Lot of people did," Vince said, nodding. "Kinda regret it now that the buffalo are almost gone."

"Yeah. But back then, who could see it?" Lazenby said, shrugging. "Nice shooting, Kid."

The man at the spotting scope had a discussion with another judge, and they sent someone on a horse down range to examine the targets up close.

"Thanks," Xander said. "I'd say, 'good luck', but my fiancée wants me to win the money." He grinned at the older man, who kind of resembled – and sounded like – a grizzled Brian Keith.

He'd mounted the long, detachable scope on his High-wall, using the tip off mounts built into the rear express sight base, octagonal section of the barrel, and front sight base. And taken advantage of the rest period to check the sight in... Now he was glad he had – he'd have played hell shooting against that scoped '86 with this man shooting it, using iron sights at five hundred yards.

He hoped he never had to cross that rifle for real and for keeps...

"Heh. Don't blame you, son," Lazenby said, grinning. "Got to keep the young ladies happy."

"Aw, hell," Xander said, shrugging. "I'll say it anyway. Good luck."

"Just not as good as yours," Lazenby said, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't need luck," Xander said, deadpan. "I'm just good."

Lazenby chuckled. The rider came back with the targets, and the two judges bent over them. After a moment, they straightened up.

"Winner! Xander Harris!" One of them called over. He sounded a bit awed. "You could cover the group with the palm of your hand," he said.

"Well, reckon you are, at that," Lazenby said. He held his hand out and Xander shook it. "That's all right – first in _this_ company isn't anything to sneeze at." He glanced down curiously, and asked, "Mind if I take a look at that long rifle of yours?"

Xander opened the breech, and handed it to the older man. "As long as I can look over yours?"

Lazenby smiled and exchanged weapons, opening the lever and passing over his long barreled, scoped, 1886 Winchester.

Xander looked the rifle over curiously, and whistled silently. A full magazine 1886 in .45-90, with a thirty-four inch heavy octagonal barrel, a pistol gripped stock, a receiver sight, and an almost full length telescopic sight mounted up top. Damn. In expert hands – and he now had _reason_ to believe Lazenby was an expert, this gun would reach out almost as far and as accurate as his Hi-wall. Xander shouldered the weapon experimentally, finding that his eye almost naturally found the scope. Sweet.

"Not a standard chambering," Lazenby said, examining one of the fat, cigar long rounds from the butt trap.

"Nope. Custom: .40-140-3 ½ inch is the full designation," Xander said. "Uses one of the big British rounds as a base. .450 Nitro Express #2 3 ½", I believe."

Nodding, Lazenby raised an eyebrow, "Loading?"

"370 grain spitzer at around eighteen to nineteen hundred feet per second," Xander said. "Shoots pretty flat," he gestured down range, "Obviously. And hits like a train. And the twist is set to stabilize all the way up to a four hundred and fifty grain load." He pursed his lips thoughtfully... "_That_ load will punch through a big range bull lengthwise."

They exchanged rifles back as Glenn, Kevin, and McKay headed over to congratulate them. Xander noticed that Sharp just shouldered his rifle following the shoot, and stalked off toward the refreshment tables. No attempt to socialize. And, fuck him too.

"What's the longest shot you've ever made, kid?" Lazenby asked.

"Well... I'm no Billy Dixon, but..." Xander shrugged, and said. "Twelve hundred and fifty yards, give or take a bit." It wasn't _quite_ a lie: _other_ him had done that thing.

Vince raised an eyebrow. "Remind me not to shoot at you at range until I've had a chance to fine tune my new rifle."

"You're awful confident on winning that '76, aren't you?" Xander gave him a lopsided grin. "Kinda hoping you won't shoot at me, even then," he said.

"Well, can't say I was planning on it," Vince said, smiling. "And, nah, on the confidence. Just have a good feeling on this."

A chorus of loud cheers and a larger volume of equally loud groans and jeers came from the shotgunning field.

"Think your lady friend just won the Live Pigeon Shoot and Grand Prize," Vince said, rolling a cigarette.

"Think you just might be onto something there, pal," Xander said, grinning.

* * *

The Contest Barker held up an Ace of Spades, and the crowd stilled to murmuring. "All right. Rifle Target, Hundred Yard Offhand shoot off: first target for grand place! Three centered, cloverleaf! One cutting the edge of the black! And one outside, but within the card."

He held up the next card: "Five shot clover-leaf, all within the Spade!" Another card: "Five shot clover-leaf, all within the Spade!" The next card came up for the crowd to see. Xander squinted, looking at it. "Four leaf clover in the Spade with one cutting the edge of the black, one cutting the outside edge of the spade! And the final card," he held up the last one, "Three shot cloverleaf within the black, not quite centered. Two outside in the white of the card!"

He held up his hands, and stilled the murmuring again, getting silence eventually. "That makes it... Grand Place, Offhand Rifle: Vince Garrett! First Place: Xander Harris!" There was a mixed up swell of cheers, jeers, and catcalls. The barker held up his hands and waited for quiet again until he got it, then went on. "Second Place to Ned Lazenby, with Third going to the esteemed visitor, John T. Chance!"

The crowd noise broke out again, money exchanging hands. Cordelia collected her bets, heading back to them smiling brightly.

_'Gonna have to book that girl a spot in Gamblers Anonymous, __when __this is over,'_ Still Small remarked. _'But at least she's winning.'_

Hey. _I'm_ winning, Xander thought back. _She's_ collecting. He grinned at his girlfriend as she came up.

"Huh," Chance said. "Well, never was good at range since my eyes got old."

Vince, pursed his lips, and said, "They say your eyes are only as old as you feel."

Chance chuckled at him, "Then I should be glad I'm not blind." There were chuckles all around at that.

"You don't do so bad for an old timer," Cordelia said, slipping her arm around Xander's waist.

"Well, Missy," Chance said, "I'm going to take that as high praise, coming from the lady friend and fee-ahn-ce of one of the two best all around gun handlers I've seen in awhile." He grinned down at her.

"You should, you really should," Cordelia said. "What did Rory call it? Rarefied company?"

"Hah. Well, much as I admire the shooting of your young feller," Chance remarked, "I am most impressed with Vin here and that antique of his."

"Aw, shucks." Vince said. "Now you've gone and insulted her. And she was shooting so well, up to this point."

"Kind of the idea, son."

* * *

Xander slipped his arm around his girlfriend, and pulled Cordelia up against him. She made a contented sound in her throat and slid an arm around his waist. He watched the throwers prepare and set up for the Shoot Off between Vince, Glenn Scott, and John Chance for Grand place in Thrown Rifle. He and McKay had already had theirs for third, with McKay nailing a solid Fourth Place with four clay balls and puffs of red dust to Xander's five.

Man could _shoot_ that old '73, but damn.

"I can't believe _you_ can shoot like this," Cordelia said. "I mean, even _with_ little Info Dump girl in the back of my head giving me a show and tell on how you _got_ to this point as a rifle and handgun shot."

"What... can't believe I could actually be good at something?" Xander said, giving her a lopsided smile.

"No!" Cordelia swatted him on the arm. "_So_ not what I meant, Idiot. Jerk. I'm _trying_ to pay you a compliment here, Jeeze."

"Ah. Ok," Xander said. "Shoot."

"_Don't_ even tempt me, Lamebrain," Cordelia said, huffing. "Just... you never showed anything _like_ that kind of talent when my dad or Rory taught us to shoot, back in our Sunnydale when we were kids."

Xander shrugged. "Either me here had a lot more practice all our lives growing up, which is what my Info Dump guy tells me, or whatever happened to send us here thought a nifty skill dump would be handy. Or Soldier Boy rubbed off more than I thought," he said. "Take your pick."

"Multiple choice?" Cordelia laughed. "I pick C – all of the above."

"Smart girl," Xander said. "That's why I picked you."

"Hah! Bug Guy picked me for you," Cordelia said. "In Buffy's cellar."

"Yeah, good old Norman. Almost makes me sad we squished him. Not."

"Well, don't you two look cozy," his Aunt Bethany's voice said, coming up behind them. Xander and Cordelia turned slightly, nodding as she and Rory strolled up.

"Hey, Aunt Bethany, Rory," Xander said. "Where's the sprout?"

"Oh, off running around with some buddies of his," Rory said, waving a hand negligently. "We'll round him up and hog tie him after the prize awards."

"Speaking of," Bethany said. "I'm understanding that you're doing pretty good here. Both of you."

"Xander's doing great, Beth," Cordelia said, sounding oddly proud of him again. Hard for him to get used to that, but he could kind of get to like it.

He hoped the bizarre phenomenon would survive the transition back home, if they made it...

"First in Handgun, and Grand in Long Range," Xander said. "Think Vin has knocked me out of being anywhere near the running in general rifle, though."

The last reports rolled over them, several of them sounding like one long, stuttering shot. Chance nailed down a solid First, leaving Vince the Grand position in Thrown Rifle – final shoot off of the final rifle event.

_Vince_ could shoot that old '66, too. And John T. was no slouch with that big loop Winchester, either.

Well, of course, he _wouldn't_ be...

"Thousand bucks, that," Rory said. "And some rarefied company, too. He out shot old Ned Lazenby and Nick Sharp in that one. _She_ took on all comers in Shotgun, too, and whipped their butts." Cordelia grinned, vindicated.

"So I heard. I was back at the refreshments getting us some plates when they were having the shoot off," Bethany said. "So, what are you planning to do with your ill gotten gains, young man?"

"Buy Cordy a new wardrobe," Xander said, deadpan. "That should use up most of it."

Cordelia swatted him. "Don't listen to him," she said, huffing. "He _so_ is not. We're planning to save most of it."

"But but – I like helping you try on new clothes, Cordy," Xander said, teasing her.

"Helping me out of the old ones, you mean." Cordelia rolled her eyes.

Bethany tsk'ed at them. "Young people – so scandalous these days," she said, winking at Rory.

"Yeah, not dignified like we were," Rory said, shaking his head. "I swear, moral turpitude of this country is just going to the dogs."

Cordelia grinned at them. She tapped her lips with a fore finger, looking thoughtful, and said, "Oh, I seem to remember hearing some tales... "

"Lies, foul lies, one and all," Rory said. He winked at her, and she laughed.

Chance, Dude, Vince and the others came over to join them, and they headed to the main grandstands as callers began announcing that the reading of the prize lists were about to start.

"All right," said Brett Halliday, now acting as the main Contest Barker. He held up his hands for quiet. "Quiet down out there, now. At least if you want to hear the results. Else I will be happy to just tell the winners who they are and let the rest of y'all guess." There was laughter, and a few catcalls at that, and the crowd noise soon settled down.

"Ok. Much better," Brett said. "Now. Grand Prize, general Rifle: goes to... Vince Garrett!" There were some cheers, lots of groans as money exchanged hands. "And I want him to remember that I have a part interest in his prize since he used my pistol in the handgun rounds." More laughter, and Vince grinned at him. "First Prize, General Rifle: our own Xander Harris!" More cheers, and money exchanging hands in the crowd. "Second Prize, General Rifle: John T. Chance" (holds up hands for quiet again) "And finally, Third Prize, general Rifle: Ned Lazenby of the Bar-G! Fourth Prize and Honorable Mention: Dewell McKay!"

More money changed hands in crowd again to the accompaniment of a few cheers and a lot of groans and catcalls. Several people came over to hand Cordelia her winnings, most cheerfully, only a few grudgingly. She smiled at all of them, folding the bills and handing them to Xander for safe keeping. He tucked them in a front pocket, securely behind his gun belt.

Chance said, shaking Vince's hand. "Well, congratulations on your new rifle."

Vince shrugged. "Thanks. But I was kinda shooting for second place." (beat) "I coulda used the money."

Chance shrugged back. "Be happy to trade you," he drawled.

Giving him a thoughtful look, followed by a head shake, Vince said, "Naw. Lady Luck smiles on you... it's just not right to turn around and slap her in the face."

"And finally," Brett said, the crowd quieting again, "Long Range Rifle. Five hundred yard shoot off – " he held up a target center. "– Five rounds, two centered, three in the black with one barely cutting the inside edge of the circle! Group can be covered by a spread hand!" Brett held up next target center: "And five rounds, three centered, one flier in the black, one flier – clean miss." He paused, and said, "Winner Grand Prize Long Range Rifle – Xander Harris!"

Money started changing hands in crowd again to the accompaniment of a few cheers and a lot of groans and catcalls.

"Looks like you upset the odds on the favorite, there, son," Chance said.

Ned Lazenby shrugged. "Happens," he said, "Kid's got younger eyes."

Brett held his up hands for silence again, got it eventually. "First Prize Long Range Rifle – Ned Lazenby of the Bar-G!" He went on to announce second and third as the four main winners fell to discussion.

Lazenby held his hand out to Xander. "Well, congratulations, Kid. Not many can out shoot me at range." He shook with Vince, and said, "Or with a rifle at all, period."

Vince shrugged and shook, "We all have our good days and our bad ones." After a beat, he turned to Chance, and said, "Said this old girl still had her day in her."

Chance nodded. "That you did."

Cordelia was holding on to Xander's arm and jumping up and down. "You won! You won!"

Xander smirked at her. "What, you had doubts?"

"No!" She scowled at him then resumed bouncing on her toes, still holding his arm. "But... you _won_! I can't _believe_ you won!"

Vince said, smiling, "That sounds kinda doubtful to me."

Cordelia flushed slightly. "Oh, _you_ hush, you."

"Guess she told me, huh?"

"And congratulations – you won too!" Cordelia said, beaming at him.

"Well, sorry about that pistol thing," Xander said. "Nothing to trade you."

"That's ok," Vince said. he shrugged. "Two hundred dollars is better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick." he pursed his lips thoughtfully, and added, "Plus the two hundred in Long Range. Plus a quarter of a third of the entry fees... Think I'll be able to eat and feed my new rifle for awhile."

"Well, we really can use the two thousand if we're going to stay around here," Cordelia said, smiling brightly. She looked at Xander, frowning. "That is a lot of money, right?"

Xander said, "Right." Cordelia beamed at him.

"Wait – " she said, frowning again, "You get a quarter of all the entry fees?"

"A quarter of a third," Vince said. "Imagine the town keeps the rest."

Cordelia glared at him. "You didn't tell me that!" Xander shrugged.

"You didn't ask?" He held his hands up in surrender, laughing. "Was what one of the guys at the entry sign up said. And then they got in an argument over Vince's mare's leg, and I guess it slipped my mind."

"What slipped your mind," Rory said, clapping Xander on the shoulder.

"That they get part of the entry fees back," Cordelia told him.

"Ah. Yeah, that's per usual. Mayor Ricky and the Town Council keeps the rest," Rory said.

"Wait, now I do think something like that might have been said at the shotgunning sign in," Cordelia said. "But I was so mad at that... that _creep_ I forgot about it."

"Bet he don't make _that_ mistake again," Rory said, grinning. He glanced at Vince. "Matthews didn't look happy with you, after the pistol competitions."

Vince said, "Can't tell you how much that saddens me."

Brett shouted for quiet again, up on the stage. When he got it, he looked over at their group. "All right. If you winners will all step up on the stage here, Interim Mayor Wilkins will present you with your winnings. And, congratulations, one and all."

There was applause from the crowd, and several of the winners started to head for the stage.

"Oh great," Xander said. "I get to get glad handed by Tricky Dick."

"Try to be nice, Goofy Boy," Cordelia said, helping Rory push him towards the stage. "He's giving you _money_."

"There is that."

* * *

Xander's eyebrow went up as he stood by waiting for Richard Wilkins the first to finish his short (supposedly) speech from the podium before handing out prizes.

He'd gotten a bit used to seeing walking film legends around, or people who strongly resembled them. Used to it, at least to the point where seeing an older Richard Boone and Glenn Ford – introduced as Morgan Stillwell and Victor Maitland – sitting with Wilkins and the other town fathers, didn't faze him. Much.

Seeing Richard Wilkins the First looking more like a near identical twin to Richard Wilkins the Third didn't either. He did make a mental note to double check on that when they got back home...

Even seeing doubles of some of the people from back home didn't do it, not after running into Oz back at the livery stables. Although the sight of Rupert Giles, or someone who _looked_ near enough to be his twin brother, sitting with the Town Elders, _did_ give him a mild start.

Complete to the wire rimmed glasses, tweed suit, and habit of polishing his glasses incessantly when he was bored, distracted, or embarrassed.

What _did_ raise the eyebrow, however, was seeing Angel standing in the sunlight wearing black jeans, a black vest, and a long black coat and Stetson, with a group of Maitland's men, and Jack O'Toole and his crowd. Heh. Dead Boy in the sunshine. Buffy would make with the freak out if she could see that.

_'Freak is putting it mildly,' _Still Small said. _'She'd have a whole herd of longhorns. And kittens to boot.'_

Heh. You are not wrong.

Xander boggled, more than just slightly. Wow – oh _man_, is _Angel_ actually _here_ in Western movie land? Thought he was in Europe or whatever? I sure as hell hope not. The Lord of the Brood is _not_ my friend, with or without the optional soul extra.

'_Slow down, idiot,_' Still Small said, '_Sunlight? Vampire flambe? Ringing a bell yet?_'

Oh. Right. _Can't_ be the _real_ Angel...

'_Slow __down__, idiot,_' Still Small said, '_Jeeze. You're worse than a tweeny girl at an N'Sync concert._'

I. Am. Not. Yeesh.

Slowly managing to slow his heart rate back down and somehow keeping himself from hyperventilating, Xander remembered research sessions in the library after Angel had lost his soul, going through the old Watcher's Dairies to see what Angel was like before he was souled. Xander remembered that Buffy hadn't been thrilled with those research sessions, or with their discoveries...

'_As I remember, according to that one female Watcher,_' Still Small said, '_Human Angel was supposedly a womanizing drunk, a lech, and a... how did she __phrase__ it? Oh – a cad, bounder, and a general ne'er do well, as she put it. I wouldn't doubt that he left a trail of illegitimate kids across half of Ireland, by way of one tavern wench or another._'

Right, Xander thought, nodding to himself. A distant bastard great grandson or something, maybe? Who just has a closer than average resemblance to dear old dad?

Now that he _looked_ carefully, he could tell that this guy wasn't quite a clone of Angel. _Could_ be a real close grandson/grandad resemblance, with enough differences to not be twins...

'_Hope he's not sleeping with Buffy in this universe,_' Still Small remarked. Xander could hear the smirk in the mental voice...

Don't even think that, bud. You might jinx us.

Wilkins finally ran down, and they all stood to head to the podium when their names were called to accept their prizes. Must be an election year coming up. Tricky Dick seemed like he was milking the civic mindedness thing for everything he could get out of this.

Alan Finch, Sunnydale's Deputy Mayor – deputy interim mayor here, he guessed – handed a smiling Deke Garrett an open walnut box and a small bag of coin. Cheers accompanied the presentation, mostly from the Bar G and Silverlode crowd, Xander noticed. Vince stepped up after to receive a much longer polished walnut box, and somewhat larger money pouch. As did Cordy...

Then Xander's turn came, and all the amusement left him in a rush.

Richard Wilkins had the flat, cold eyes of a rattlesnake above the warm and genuine smile.

_'Uh oh. Dive__, dive,__ dive!' _Still Small said. _'And eject__, eject,__ eject, even. This man is _not_ your friend.'_

This man is _nobody's_ friend, pal. Xander smiled back into the reptilian eyes as Wilkins shook his hand before handing him his prize money. Meaning the smile probably about as much as Wilkins seemed to mean his...

"Always good to see a local boy come back and make good, son," Wilkins said, clasping Xander's hand and pumping it. "Congratulations on your win here. Arthur?" He made a gesture with his head to the Deputy Mayor.

"Thanks," Xander murmured.

"Oh, don't mention it," Wilkins said, that flat, soulless gaze boring into Xander's. "Even if you did upset some of the local favorites. Glad you got some of your small troubles cleared up and came back."

He released Xander's hand, nothing in his voice, expression or posture indicating in any way that he might be among those upset, or that he _wasn't_ glad. But Xander seemed to recall something about the Bar G and Silverlode owners being among Wilkin's supporters. And Marshall Dude and anyone associated with him as being definitely among the _not_ faves...

Xander accepted a clinking bag and a slim wallet from Deputy Mayor Finch, and stepped away to let the next guy up to the reward line.

_'We have met the enemy and he is _not_ us,' _Still Small said. _'I'd consider grabbing the girl and the loot and making tracks, if I were you.'_

Xander grinned to himself mirthlessly, and felt the icy hand of fate grip him by the back of the neck and give him a gentle warning shake. Yup. Big Bad, twelve o'clock high. And I don't think it's gonna be that easy, bud.

He had the damnedest feeling that whomever or _what_ever had sent them here didn't include in their plans for him and Cordy to head for Colorado to buy their ranch. And that if they _did_ try to make tracks from the Little Cowtown on the Hellmouth, things were gonna get ugly.

As opposed to the ugly he was _certain_ they were gonna get if they _stayed_.

"Nice," Xander said, looking over Vince's open boxed prize as he resumed his seat. Vince nodded, giving him a sharp look. Must've been something in his voice, or the way he'd said nice...

"It just me," Xander said, softly and in a much lower tone of voice, still leaning over to examine the big, elegant looking rifle. "Or am I right in having a major Bad Guy alert looking at our esteemed wannabe Mayor?"

"You are not wrong, son," Chance rumbled as he sat down next to Cordelia, on Xander's other side. He must've overheard that low voiced comment. "Met a lot of snakes in my time, but that's the first one that ever stood up on two legs and shook my hand and called me 'sir'."

"Does seem like such a polite fellow," Vince murmured, nodding.

"Oh yeah. Richard Wilkins has always been a really polite man," Cordelia said. "And oh so very sincere..."

Xander had, and stifled, a sudden wild impulse to pull out his target revolver and plug Wilkins between the eyes, and then skip off down the stairs singing a Looney Tunes theme song at the top of his lungs.

Probably be the high point of the day's festivities. It would be just _bound_ to get him talked about, at the very least.


	8. Bad Days in Black Rock, err, Sunnydale

**Chapter Seven: Bad Days in Black Rock, err, Sunnydale...**

* * *

"_If a guy calls you a slut or hooker both before and after you dated him, he probably wasn't after your mind in the first place.__"_ ― Everything worthwhile I've learned in life, I learned from Cordelia Chase

* * *

"Well, congratulations on your win again, Xander, Cordelia," Bethany said. "Wins, multiple."

"Yeah! Good shooting, Uncle Xan," Richard told him, nearly bouncing on his toes next to Cordelia.

"Hah. Surprised you saw any of it, Squirt," Xander said, giving the boy a lopsided grin. "You were awful scarce for someone who wanted to see the shooting. Way you vaporized after you went into the store, I thought the goblins got you."

"Naw. Saw the whole thing." Richard grinned back at him. "From around."

Rory ruffled his son's hair, getting made a face at as the boy jerked away. "Around, huh?"

"So, Rory," Cordelia asked, curious, "I heard Dude say that you won Grand Prize in rifle a couple of years ago, yourself?"

Xander nodded. "That rifle there, wasn't it?" he said, eying Rory's custom looking 1894.

"Yeah!" Richard said, nearly bouncing on his toes and with an ear to ear grin. "Two of 'em!"

"No! You don't say," Cordelia said, winking at Rory.

"Yup. Matched and cased set of new Winchester 1894 take-down rifles," Rory said, "From the Hartford custom shop and Griffin & Howe. This half magazine here, and a matching full magazine, both in .38-55."

Xander whistled, both of his eyebrows going up. That was impressive: _easily_ as nice a prize as Vin's custom One of One Thousand. "What were you shooting?" he asked, curiously.

"That old .38-56 '86 of mine," Rory said, grinning. "Got the job done. Ned Lazenby won Long Range, naturally."

"Naturally," Cordelia said, nodding and smiling back at him.

Rory looked curiously at Xander and Cordelia, "Ok. So... gonna gather up your horses and head out to the ranch with us?"

"Nah," Xander said, shaking his head. "Not right now. I – and Cordy – want a _bath_. Or two baths even. Possibly even separate ones. And maybe a night's sleep."

"Uh huh," Cordelia said, swatting at him for his 'maybe separate baths' thing. "And I'd kind of like to say hello to my Aunt Elena while I'm here in town."

"Ah," Bethany said, nodding. "She's still singing and performing at the Paradise, I think. She'll be outrageously glad to see you."

"Yeah," Rory said. "You guys can catch dinner and a show while you're there. Brett'll probably give you steaks on the house, you being returning, conquering heroes and all."

"Heh. Hardly conquering," Xander said. "Garrett and Vin both took the grand prizes."

"Not on the long range shoot!" Richard said. "You did!"

"Yup," Rory said, agreeably. "And that's the toughie." Xander shrugged.

"When do you think you'll come out, then?" Bethany asked.

"Couple of days?" Xander looked at Cordelia, who shrugged. "Long enough to cut the trail dust and spend some of my winnings. And some of Cordy's ill gotten gambling money... " he laughed, dodging back from a halfhearted swat.

"Well, it is good to see you back, son. We got a bit worried about you, on occasion," Rory said. He reached out and caught Xander up in a strong hug, then held him out at arm's length. Rory grinned, "_And_ to see my best horses back in one piece."

"And it was _so_ the _horses_ you were most worried about," Cordelia said, arching an eyebrow at him. She accepted a strong hug also, while Xander was getting one from Bethany, then hugged the older woman as well.

"Well, of course," Rory grinned down at her. "Those horses were valuable stock."

"We missed both of you, too." Xander shook the older man's hand, then solemnly exchanged handshakes with Richard.

"Well," Rory pulled out an old, worn pocket watch and glanced at it, then squinted up at the sun. "We best hit the road. Don't want to be out near Sunnydale after dark-fall. Like to be well on our way to the ranch by then."

Bethany nodded. "We'll keep your guest room open. We had better get back. Rosa and my sister are watching the three younger, and the little one."

"And watch that mixed bathing, you two," Rory said. "_Don't_ make Dude arrest you for public indecency." he grinned, winking at them.

"All right. Good luck, and stay careful," Xander said. He grinned back, and said, "Is this the time for Cordy to trot out those lying stories she heard?" Rory held up his hands in surrender, shaking his head.

"Yeah. _Don't_ let the goblins get you, any of you," Cordelia said, seriously. "And around here? That _so_ might _not_ be just a nifty turn of phrase."

* * *

Ahhh... Xander combed back his wet hair, luxuriating. He grabbed his boots and headed out to the main salon of the bath house on the street behind the hotel, to put them on while he waited for Cordelia to finish up and join him.

Main salon was right, he thought. For a public bath in a small town, this was fairly nice. Clean porcelain claw-foot tubs, and private stalls instead of corrugated, galvanized wash tubs and partitions or screens. And the main room, with the head bath attendant and waiting area looked more like a hotel lobby than a western bath house.

Of course, as he'd been noticing, and his memory dumps kept supplying for him, Hollywood's idea of the Old West and the real Old West were generally two different things. Except where they weren't, here. He finished pulling his boots on and stood, tucking in his shirt tail and putting on his leather vest.

Of course, they could have taken baths in their hotel rooms, or room, one of theirs, but – neither Xander nor Cordelia had wanted to irritate any of the staff by sloughing off several days of ground in road dust in a hotel tub. He wished Mysterious Force Whoever hadn't been quite so thorough in setting up and maintaining the illusion of multiple days of riding after leaving Ventura.

There'd been considerably _more_ than just the two days of actual riding and trail dirt and sweat ground into them, Xander was pretty sure.

The door to the womenfolk's baths opened, disrupting his reverie. Xander somehow didn't mind...

Cordelia swept out of the doorway and into the salon, dragging a comb through her wet hair and looking absolutely ravishing, to Xander's more than just slightly prejudiced eyes. Or like she needed to be ravished. He wasn't picky, looking at her.

"What?" Cordelia arched an eyebrow at him.

"You look wonderful," Xander said.

There was an unladylike snort. "I look like a waterlogged cat," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes.

"Nah. Not to me," Xander said, crossing the room and pulling her into his arms. "And besides, I like cats."

"Mrow," she said, letting him draw her into a deep kiss. "And this kitty is not only half drowned, but is absolutely freaking clean for the first time in, I swear, _months_."

She was wearing a high necked white blouse, a brown vest, and a pair of matching shade riding pants tucked into high boots. The kind you saw English people wearing while chasing foxes on horseback. Yum.

"This tomcat, also," Xander said, releasing her finally, and reluctantly. "And half starving. Seems that raiding the banquet tables at the shoot was a long time ago, for some reason."

"I could stand to eat," Cordelia said. From the way her eyes were roaming over him, he wasn't sure she meant food... "And I so hope we're not stuck here," she added. "Because I am so _not_ looking forward to having to turn to petticoats, bloomers and corsets when my underwear and bras finally give out."

"Hey – I like corsets," Xander said, smiling at her.

"No, _you_ like merry widows and what Frederick's of Hollywood and Victoria's Secret _considers_ a corset," Cordelia said, wrinkling her nose in that way that had always fascinated him. "_So_ not the same as whalebone and stays, or 20th century equivalents."

"And what do _you_ know about authentic corsets," he asked, his eyebrows going up.

"Oh, please," Cordelia waved her brush at him. "Costuming stuff from when Mother was doing the stage mom thing while I was into pageants. Avocado Princess one year after I started getting boobs, remember?"

"I like boobs," Xander said, nodding.

"Good thing, since you are one," Cordelia said, archly, sticking her tongue out at him. "Try _wearing_ a corset for eight hours before you decide you like one.

"And speaking of, say goodbye to Victoria's and Frederick's," she added. "And mini skirts. And halter tops and handkerchief tops. And most things that are considered racy here. We'd get run out of town on rails, or tarred and feathered or something, for some of the stuff I used to wear to school."

"Yuck. I liked a lot of the stuff you used to wear to school," Xander said, scowling.

"Which would be why you always called it hooker wear?" Cordelia said, her eyebrows going up. "And trashy wear?"

"Hey," Xander said, spreading his hands. "A lot of what you called 'fashion', I thought looked an awful lot like stuff I saw streetwalkers wearing in movies. Not _my_ fault women's designers make hooker wear."

"You... " Cordelia blinked, and frowned. "Are not completely wrong, jerk. I've often thought a lot of designers hated women, and a lot of the others had call girl fixations. Or Lolita fixations, which, like, eww."

"Heh." Xander nodded. "Doesn't mean I didn't think you looked completely hot in them. Also doesn't mean I wasn't going to tease hell out of you for the way they looked, either," he said, grinning lopsidedly at her.

"Yeah, I remember the disgusting trail of drool you and Jesse used to leave behind me and Aura sometimes," Cordelia said, laughing.

"Yeah," Xander said. He smirked. "Kinda like the one _you_ left with your tongue at the first swim team meet when I came out of the changing rooms."

"Uh," Cordelia turned red. "You noticed that, huh? And, so _not_ the same."

"Uh huh." Xander grinned and took Cordelia's hand, pulling her into him for another thorough kissage.

"Awww... isn't that just _sweet!_"

Xander's eyes flew open, and he spun, whirling a startled Cordelia behind him. Crap. Jack O'Toole, and the gang, complete with a smirking Kyle and Rhonda.

And uh... crap again. A younger, smirking DeForest Kelley. He seemed to recall that Kelly had played a lot of bad guy roles in Westerns, way back. Including Gunsmoke. He also remembered whoever he was _here_ being in the early stages of the pistol and rifle shoot, and dropping out early. One of the Bar-G gunslingers? Slade something?

And a pair of kids about his and Cordy's apparent ages that he didn't recognize. One of them way too pretty boy to have that menacing smirk he was trying to pull off, holding a pint bottle of whiskey in his non gun hand. One not handsome, but obviously thinking he was. And then he did recognize them: they'd been near Maitland and Stillwell at the award platform. Stillwell and Maitland's sons, he seemed to recall Dude mentioning. Or Rory, maybe.

Uh oh. And _Angel_, or whoever he was _here_. Crap and crap again.

"Angel?" Cordelia interrupted Xander's train of thought, popping out from where he'd whirled her behind him. Double crap.

"Hah. I'll be your angel, sweetheart," Dead Boy clone drawled, giving her a definite Angelus type smirk as his eyes roamed over her body. Cordelia flushed, glaring at him.

Xander's right hand slapped his – trouser _leg_, dammit, where there was _not_ a holster. And it gets worse. He remembered that the bath house required guns to be checked at the coat room, in the lobby, before getting back here to the salon and the baths...

Swear to Zeus, he was getting a derringer, or a small revolver or something he could stick in his back pocket for times like this. Or in his underwear next to Mr. Winky... he didn't think the hunting and skinning knives in his boot tops were going to help here, not against eight guns.

"Aww," O'Toole said, again. "Whassamatta, Harris? No gun?" he sighed, smirking. "And no Marshall with a shotgun to help out. Tsk tsk."

"Big man, Jackie," Cordelia said, her eyes giving him a contemptuous once over. "Of course, you always _were__ – _in a pack."

"Wouldn't go there, Chase," Jack said, quietly, his eyes narrowing. "We have some unfinished business, you and me." His hand hovered too near the big, black handled knife at his belt. The hell is it with O'Toole's and knives? Xander wondered if he'd named this one...

"Nothing unfinished between you and Cordy, O'Toole," Xander said, just as quietly. "I _will_ kill you, this time."

The hell had that come from? His brain to mouth filter was getting less reliable by the minute...

"I'd worry about yourself, son," Slade drawled. "You might not be in any condition to kill anyone." He started rolling a smoke, his eyes going hard and giving Xander a flinty look. "Jack tried to warn you that you were upsetting a lot of important people's business, if you insisted on staying the shooting course."

Crap, again. He was gonna get the shit kicked out of him, or worse, by Doctor McCoy...

Tor frowned slightly, from where he was leaning against the wall to one side of the doorway. Heidi matched the frown from her identical perch by the other side of it.

"Hey," Xander said, shrugging. He forced an easy half grin to slide across his lips. "They can't have been all _that_ important, or I'd never have been able to interfere."

McCoy-Slade grinned at him, genially. "Gotta say, I admire a kid with guts and no quit."

"I admire his taste in girls, too," Angel Clone said.

"Nah," Rhonda said. "You wouldn't like this one. She's always been an icy tease even before she started hanging onto Harris for protection."

"Oh?" Xander heard Cordelia's spine straighten with a snap. He could almost _see_ her chin go up and her eyes flash, even without needing to look. "Gee, Rhonda, considering _your_ best contributions to Jack's little gang were always flat on your back, _you're_ one to talk."

Heidi made choking noises from her stand by the door. Xander flashed a quick look at her, taking his eyes from Slade's for a split second, to see her visibly fighting a grin, and her green eyes dancing. He flicked his gaze back to lock with Slade's again. Best to watch the dangerous ones...

"Yeah?" Rhonda's eyes flashed, and she said, hotly. "Better that than a frigid superior _bitch_ like you, any day."

Cordelia nodded, slowly. "You know, Kelly," she said. "It takes something _special_ to set up another woman for Jack, or that... pretty face thug there. Doesn't take _much_ of a woman, but then, you never were, were you?" Rhonda flushed, and Cordelia snorted, "This? Will end. And you won't always be hiding behind Jack and your buddies. Sooner or later, we'll go on. And sooner or later? I'll _destroy_ you."

Rhonda growled, low in her throat and took a step forward. Xander shook his head slightly, and took his eyes from Slade's again to lock onto hers. That far, no farther, his gaze said.

Kyle took an angry stride, sliding past Rhonda and between them. Xander took his time sliding his eyes up to meet Kyle's, deliberately.

"Don't look at my woman like you're threatening her, Harris," he said, almost growling it. Xander could see Jack smiling appreciatively, shaking his head almost sadly.

"Or what?"

"Huh?" Kyle blinked.

"Or. What?" Xander said, slowly and distinctly, raising his eyebrows. He snickered, watching Kyle flush angrily. "As in, what are _you_ gonna do about it?" Xander shook his head, "You didn't have Jack and seven guns behind you, you never would face me alone, straight up, gun or no. You never did, me or Jesse either. Not without a pack at your back."

Kyle stepped all the way up to him, right into his face. He drew back a fist, cocking it. "I'd watch your mouth, Harris." Xander laughed, and Kyle's eyes widened almost into incredulity.

"Why?" Xander shook his head. "O'Toole there, he's _always_ been a psychotic little shit, but he's a _real_ bad ass, at least. Not a _pretend_ hard case like you." Jack laughed at that, his eyes lit up with psychotic enjoyment at Kyle's discomfiture.

Kyle flushed even deeper, and drew his fist all the way back for a round house punch that probably would have taken Xander's head off. Xander didn't give it a chance – he stood up on his toes and snapped his head forward, crashing his forehead into the bridge of Kyle's nose and sending him reeling back, blood spraying suddenly.

"Xander!" Cordelia gasped.

"Like I said," Xander smirked. "No guts, and _no_ skills."

Kyle staggered back, one hand to his nose. "He bwoke my nobe!" His hand flashed down to his holster.

Jack shook his head and snapped his own hand down onto Kyle's wrist, locking it and the six-gun in place. "_No_. Idiot. _Dead_, he doesn't learn anything." He gave Xander a look of almost grudging admiration.

"_Fu__bb_ lebbons," Kyle snarled. "_I'll_ teahb him somebing." Jack let up far enough for the gun to clear the holster, and twisted it out of Kyle's hand, sticking it into his own belt before shoving Kyle violently to one side and up against Rhonda.

"Tempted to give this to Harris, give you mine, and send you out into the street with him," Jack said.

"Be committing murder under an alias," Slade said, with complete indifference in his tone and expression. "Deke Matthews could take him, maybe. I could, maybe. Kyle or you? Not even close to that fast. Or that accurate." He snorted, "Kyle would be twitching in the dirt before he cleared the holster."

"We could test your theory," Xander said, ignoring Cordelia's gasp. "Give me my gunbelt, and you and me can step outside. You can even bring your friend with the giant forehead there," he said, inclining his head to Angel-clone.

"Nah." Slade smiled. "Not today. And not now. But – someday, and soon."

Angel Clone smiled, more than a bit viciously. "I'll take the girl off your hands while you're dealing with the pup, here," he said.

Rhonda smiled viciously. "Hell, wait 'til we're done with Harris, and we'll all take a turn with her."

Angel Clone took a step forward –

– _Click!_

And stopped, dead boy in his tracks, to coin a phrase. His eyes rolled backwards and to the side.

"Wouldn't," Tor Hauer said lazily, from where he seemed to have suddenly uncoiled from his leaning stance. The _click_ had been the hammer of his sawed off pump action Colt rifle going back, the muzzle just touching Angel Clone's temple...

"Dunno, Tor," Heidi said. She'd stood away from the door also, an ivory handled Remington pistol in her hand, not quite pointed at anyone.

"Yeah. Not like," Tor said –

"– There's any vital organs up there," Heidi finished, smirking.

"The hell are you doing, Hauer?" Jack said, his eyes going incredulously wide. Slade, or whoever he was, half turned, his hand way too casually near his holster, and Heidi's revolver found a target to aim at.

"Like the man said: wouldn't do it," Heidi said. The pistol's hammer went back with a _snickt_ and Slade froze. "Be a just awfully loud noise. And a mess."

"You gone loco, Tor?" Kyle asked, "'Cause you're sure acting crazy, you ask me."

"This isn't right, Jack," Tor said, ignoring Kyle. Something that _didn't_ seem lost on Kyle... Kyle had _always_ seemed a wannabe bad ass to Xander. Tor _was_ a bad ass, like Psycho-Tool, only minus the 'psycho'. He always had more or less seemed to tolerate Kyle's leading their little gang, mostly because Tor was lazy at heart.

But sometimes, he'd get his back up and get downright _in_tolerant...

"Yeah," Heidi said. "Gotta problem with Harris? No sweat – let Cordy walk. Deal with Xan."

"_I_ decide what's _right_, Hauer," Jack said, quietly. "Got that?"

"Yup. Got it," Tor said, easily. The gun muzzle never moved, however. Nor did those cold, dark blue eyes.

There was just something reassuringly and solidly _menacing_ about Tor Hauer, hyena possessed or not, as long as it wasn't _you_ he was menacing, Xander thought. An extraneous part of his mind wondered if he could get Tor to teach seminars in how to do that...

"Just maybe," Tor said.

"_You_ don't decide what's right for _us_," Heidi finished. Her gun muzzle never moved, either, nor her eyes.

"There's strangers," Tor said.

"And there's us."

"And we take care of our own, Jack," Hauer said. "Or have you forgotten that?"

"Harris and Cordelia _aren't_ two of ours," Jack said, almost snarling. Xander noticed that his hand didn't go too close to his gun, though. Neither did Rhonda's. Tor's left hand was probably too close to his backup pistol for Jack's comfort... He'd almost be willing to bet that while Tor and Heidi hadn't made it far in the competition against the likes of Vin and McKay, they were both _still_ faster than Jack and Kyle, or Rhonda.

"Sure they are," Tor said. "They grew up with us."

Heidi nodded. "It's folks like Slade and Corby here that are late comers to town."

Xander felt Cordelia's hand take his arm, tight, and her other hand gripping his belt at the small of his back. His eyes never left Slade's blue ones, though.

"That's the way it is, huh?" Jack shrugged, way too easily. "Sure – why didn't you just say so?"

"Did." Tor shrugged, and said, "Hey, got issues with Xan? Take a walk outside together and beat the crap out of each other. Or let him get his gunbelt from coat check and have at with him."

"Tor? You're starting to annoy me," Kyle said. "Best back down."

"Shut the fuck up, Kyle," Tor said, lazily, "Grownups are talking," and Kyle jerked like he'd been slapped.

Heidi jerked her head at Xander, and then to the door, her eyes still never leaving the man under her gun. "Take a hike, Xander, Cordelia."

The muzzle of the mare's leg dug slightly into Angel Clone's – Corby's – temple. "You. Clear the door," Tor suggested.

"You _real_ sure you want to do that, Hauer?" Corby said, just as quietly as Jack had.

"You'll clear it one way or another," Tor said, easily. He smiled. "And I don't much care which."

Angel Clone – Corby, and for some reason that name sounded oddly familiar to Xander – shrugged, and started to turn slightly. Tor slugged him across the temple – _hard_ – with the fore-end and barrel of the mare's leg, sighing. Corby dropped like a sack of flour.

Xander nodded, jerking his eyes from Doc McCoy's finally to meet Tor's cold, dark blue ones. He noticed that, like him and Cordy, the two Town Father's kids hadn't had much to say while Tor and his people were arguing. Both of them looked pale, and more than a bit scared.

He wondered if he and Cordelia looked like that...

"Get moving, Harris," Tor said. Xander nodded again, and took a step toward the doorway.

"Later, Jack," Xander said.

"There will be, Harris. Guarantee it," Jack said. "You and me, we're gonna have to have a talk, Tor, Heidi."

"I like talking," Tor said.

"Always have time for a chat," Heidi agreed.

"We're not finished either," Slade said, catching Xander's eyes again. Xander nodded, and stepped carefully over the unconscious Angel Clone.

"We are for now," Xander said.

Slade nodded. "'Til then, then."

Xander went out through the doorway, his shoulders tense, Cordelia right behind him holding on to his arm and belt. Tor and Heidi backed out behind them, Tor pulling the door shut as they exited.

Xander gently shook off Cordelia's hand and strode immediately to the coat check, reaching inside to undo the latch when he saw the Hat Check girl was gone. Figures. Finding his gunbelt and Cordelia's, he stepped back out, handing her hers and buckling his around his waist.

He noticed that Tor had drawn his backup from the backward slanting holster at the front of his belt, and was holding it down near his leg, aimed at the floor with the hammer back. The mare's leg, and Heidi's six-gun, were aimed at the closed door.

"Thank you, Tor," Cordelia said, quietly. "And you, Heidi." She quickly put on her pistol belt.

"No probs, Cordy."

"Likewise," Xander said, jerking the tie downs tight and drawing his right hand gun to check the loads. Last time he _ever_ got caught naked here. He'd rather be caught undressed.

"No worries," Tor said, shrugging. "There's right, and there's wrong, way I see it."

"And having Pretty Boy Bill Corby drag your girl back somewhere private to rape her– " Heidi said.

"– Is one of the wrong ones," Tor finished.

"No argument here," Cordelia said. She snapped her Smith and Wesson closed, and kept it in her hand, pointed upwards at the ceiling. Xander spun the right hand pistol into the holster, and drew the long barreled target revolver to check it.

Xander nodded. "_But_ – Jack and Kyle aren't gonna thank you for this."

"Wah." Tor shrugged. "Gratitude is for wimps."

Heidi snickered. "What he said. Hey – kick your ass and laugh?"

"No probs," Tor said. "Or shove you face first in a manure pile?"

"All in fun," Heidi said. "But this... ? Nah."

"Like I said, we take care of our own. Outsiders need not apply," Tor said. "_We_ haven't forgotten that."

"Take a hike, Xan, Cordy," Heidi said. "And don't get caught without those pistols again. Not ever."

"We won't," Xander said, grimly. "You coming with?"

"Nah. We still have a talk with Jack penciled in," Tor said.

"Don't get killed over it," Xander said. They took the hike.

* * *

The door closed in their faces, Xander and Cordelia backing out of it, Xander covering the doorway with the target revolver.

He'd noticed that not only had the coat check girl vanished, so had the manager and the bath house attendant. Figures. Whether the goblins had two legs or many, it was still Sunnydale. No one wanted to get involved if they could possibly ignore it and pretend nothing was happening...

He heard running footsteps and spun toward them. Dude skidded to a halt a few yards away, holding his rifle carefully aimed up, and one hand held up, palm out.

"Whoa," Dude said. "Easy."

"Heard that once Hickok shot a man who ran up on him in the dark unexpectedly," Xander said. He let out a raggedy breath and lowered the hammer on the revolver. "Sorry. A bit... twitchy."

"It's all right, son" the tall man beside and slightly behind the Marshall said, gently. "Don't blame you." Xander barely noticed that he slightly resembled an old Walther Matthau, holding a very long barreled, target sighted Colt Buntline with a detachable shoulder stock. He wore another, shorter – normal length – Buntline in a Holliday style shoulder holster, cross-draw.

"Day late and a bit short, Marshall," Cordelia said. "You missed the party.'

"Sorry about that," Dude said. "We were patrolling clear at the end of town over there when the hat check girl found us and told us what might be going on. Took us a bit to get here."

"Ah." Cordelia and Xander exchanged looks. So the hatcheck girl _hadn't_ just buried her head and bailed out. Wonders never cease...

"No idea where Chance is," Mr. Matthau said. "He was walking the other end of town, towards the fort."

More footsteps jogging up. Everyone turned a bit more cautiously towards them. Sheriff Munroe was jogging up holding a Winchester at port arms, looking out of breath, with Detective – no, _D__eputy_ – Stein beside him, carrying a pump twelve gauge.

"Dammit, Harris," Munroe said, almost wheezing from lack of breath. Too much gut and too little running, Xander figured. "I _knew_ you and Chase wouldn't be in town long before you were starting up old troubles again."

"You're a bit out of your jurisdiction, aren't you, Sheriff Bob?" Xander said. "Isn't that what you told us back in the day?"

Bob Munroe reddened and stuck his finger out, jabbing it at Xander' face. "My _jurisdiction_ is where I say it is, boy."

"I am _so_ very _much_ not in the mood, Sheriff Bob, that you wouldn't even believe it," Xander said. "I'd move that finger before I break it off." He wondered, a bit numbly, where all of this nerve was coming from. He never remembered having it before...

"You!" Bob Munroe's mouth worked incoherently for a long moment. He swelled up like a bullfrog, and scowled.

"Why don't you head down to the waterfront and extort free beers from bar owners?" Cordelia asked, sweetly. "It _is_ what you're good at, isn't it?" She still had her revolver held loosely in her right hand, aimed upwards, Xander noticed, and didn't seem inclined to put it away.

"Now you look here, _Chase_," Sheriff Munroe said, almost snarled, in fact.

"You know?" Dude cut across him, in a casual voice that somehow managed to be as smooth as velvet on steel, and as menacing as Tor Hauer had looked inside. "Occurs to me that they're right. Your jurisdiction is County Jail, the Courthouse, and the rest of the County. _Inside_ the city limits is _ours_."

"Easy, Dude," Stein said, mildly. "No trouble. We're all on the same side, here."

"Are we?"

"Well, I'd like to think so, anyway," Stein said.

Nod. "You just go on thinking that, Paul," Dude said. "Me, I'll wait until Sheriff Bob there shows me something."

Stein nodded back, ignoring the reddening Munroe. "You two all right?" he said, looking at Xander and Cordelia.

"All except for our nerves, Detect- uh, Deputy Stein," Xander said. "Tor Hauer and Heidi broke things up and got us out of there before they got too ugly."

"They did?" Dude's eyebrows went up. "Have to remember that for the next time Jack's little gang crosses me."

"So nothing actually happened in there?" Sheriff Munroe asked. He sounded relieved, Xander noted with a kind of sour amusement.

"Not so as _you_ would notice," Xander said. Munroe reddened further into an almost plum color, and spun on his heel.

"Come on, Deputy," Munroe said, stalking off. "We're not needed here."

Stein shook his head, and shot Xander and Cordelia an almost apologetic look. He shrugged, and turned to follow his boss. "Later, Marshall. Guess he won't show you anything tonight."

"Guess not," Dude said. He turned to Xander. "So, you two plan to press charges on Jack and whoever else was in there?"

Xander exchanged a long look with Cordelia. He shrugged. "Nah. Not with two of our little town's leading citizen's kids in the mix. Wouldn't do much good."

"Huh. Let me guess," Dude's deputy said. "Stillwell and Maitland's brats?"

"Got it in one, Deputy," Cordelia said, nodding.

"Yeah, they've been running with Jack and his little posse lately," Dude said, sounding disgusted. "Trying to be hard cases, and not quite figuring out that Jack just likes them for the money they can spend."

"_Would_ pressing charges do any good?" Cordelia's voice was honestly curious.

Dude shrugged. "No witnesses and the two of you against, what, six or so of them swearing up and down you're lying? Or they was 'just funning'?" He shook his head, "I could hold them, but I'd have to let them go. Or Judge Maxwell would let them go once he heard things out."

"Then, no point," Xander said. "All the same to you, I'll just kill Jack the next time he leans on us. And Kyle. Legally, so you won't have to arrest me."

Cordelia looked at him sharply.

"Hah. Just make sure he at least twitches first, ok?" Dude said. "Any point in us going in there now?"

"Hell, I'll let him start to reach," Xander said. "Mostly."

"After Sheriff Munroe wasted everyone's time out here for this long?" Cordelia shook her head. "They're probably long gone by now."

"Yeah." Dude looked disgusted again, glancing down the street where Munroe had disappeared. "Come on – we'll at least walk you to your hotel, or wherever you're going."

"Yeah, sounds good," Xander said. He holstered the long barreled revolver. "Might as well."


	9. When Everything Feels Like the Movies

**Chapter Eight: And When Everything Feels Like the Movies... (Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive)**

* * *

"'_It's in the script: Cheesy dialogue followed by mindless violence, and then we get to have the obligatory sex scene,'_ I snarled.  
_He recoiled even further. 'Not with _ME_ you don't!_'  
'_The scriptwriter doesn't specify.'_" ― Ferrous Ursine in 'PoseDreck, the Legend Continues'

* * *

"I want to go back _home_, Xander," Cordelia said, her voice sounding really small to him. "I want out of this town and this place and this _time_."

"I know," he said. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her. She laid her head against his chest and drew in a deep breath. "Me too."

"They won't let us, will they."

"I don't think it's in the cards, just yet, no," Xander said. "I'm sorry."

"Dammit." Cordelia raised her head and let it thump forward against his chest. "Just damn it all to hell."

"I know," Xander said, again. He stroked her hair, and her back, murmuring. Like you would to sooth a somewhat nervous cat.

Somewhat, because like Cordelia, when a cat was truly and irrevocably pissed off or upset, you didn't touch them. You'd lose your hand.

For some reason, Xander found he kind of _liked_ having a girl like that.

Sure enough, "Swear to God, Xander, if you stroke my hair again and I even _think_ what you're murmuring sounds even a _tiny_ bit like 'whosa good girl', I will yank out your spine."

He broke out laughing. "I wasn't – I _swear_, Cordy."

"You were thinking it, then," Cordelia said. She sounded like she was smiling into his chest, though, and that was a good thing.

"You read minds now?"

"Yours? Not so big a feat, Mr. Sex and Food and Jokes Boy," she said, snickering.

"Ah. Well... you are not wrong on that," Xander said. "C'mon. Change of clothes and some dinner, and it'll all look better."

"Oh no," Cordelia pulled back enough to look up at him, her eyes widening. "We can get room service. We are so _not_ going out there!"

"Sure we are," Xander said. "We are _not_ going to hide in our room from Jack O'Toole and Kyle DuFours."

"We are too!" Cordelia shuddered. "Ok, maybe not _hiding_, but we can stay in, and then head out to Rory's tomorrow morning."

Grrf. He hated, _hated_ to do this. It was mean. And cruel. But...

"You wouldn't in Sunnydale," Xander said. "_Our_ Sunnydale. Or run, either. Not Cordelia _Chase_."

She made an inarticulate, outraged sound deep in her throat, and pulled back out of his arms, her eyes blazing up at him.

_Crack!_

Xander put his hand to his cheek, fighting a twitching at his lips that threatened to turn into a full blown grin. So _not_ the time for one... Cordelia stepped back, her eyes wide and shocked and one hand going to cover her mouth.

"Oh, God... I- I'm- "

"_Whosa_ good girl," Xander murmured. He caught her hand, this time, inches before it hit his other check. Turned it over and kissed the palm, looking over it and into her eyes, smiling.

"You... jerk!" Cordelia's lips started to twitch at the corners, though. "I swear to _G__od_, Xander, you are such a _jerk_ sometimes."

"Worked, though," Xander said, letting the lip twitch turn into a lopsided grin. She pulled back on her hand, starting to laugh, and he resisted.

"You are not wrong. Idiot." Cordelia quit struggling, and, laughing, let him pull her up against his chest again. He folded the arm of the hand that wasn't holding hers around her waist.

"Idiot Boy. Me," Xander said. "And all yours."

"Oh, lucky me," she said, snickering helplessly. "You could have gotten _killed_, dumb ass!"

"By Kyle _DuFours_?" Xander's voice was incredulous, and she thumped him with her uncaught hand. "Not on this or any other day, this or any other Sunnydale."

"No. Dammit. By Jack, or- or, that Slade character."

"Ah. No, wasn't my day to die," Xander said, grinning.

"Oh? So since when do _you_ believe in fate or destiny?" Cordelia shook her head against him.

"No such thing," Xander said. "I just know my hyenas. By now, I'm an _expert_ on hyenas. If Jack or Slade had wanted me dead, they'd have come in shooting, not talking. No, they wanted to deliver a message. Or make a point. And the dead don't listen or learn so well."

"Unless they're vampires."

"Hah. You ever know Dead Boy to learn anything?"

"Oh, gods... that man. _Angel_ looked just like that at me, when he was Angelus. Vampire _Jesse_ looked at me like that, in the Bronze, that time."

"Yeah... "

"And so?" Cordelia shook her head against him, again. "Kyle could have jerked that pistol, and you didn't know Jack would stop him."

"No. But I knew I could take that gun away and spank him with it, and Jack would just grin and watch – and cover me so I couldn't turn it on anyone else."

"Gods, Xander." Cordelia shuddered. "You were _guessing_?"

"No. Yes, a little, but, no. Told you, I know my hyenas. And Jack? Is a jackal, and he thinks like a pack leader. _Kyle_ wants to be an alpha, and Jack would let me kill him before he'd let Kyle get enough balls to be a challenge," Xander said. "Now... Tor? Jack wouldn't _ever_ even play those games with Tor Hauer. Me either. _Tor_ would _kill_ me, and then feed Jack his own gun."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Because _Tor_ is a _real_ bad ass. So is Heidi."

"And for some reason, they like us," Cordelia said, frowning.

"Maybe," Xander said. He shrugged. "Tor... has always been kinda strange. Has a real odd sense of honor. You know they once jumped me and Jesse? And Tor made Kyle back off and then he fought both of us, one at a time. With Heidi making sure Kyle stayed backed off."

"Oh? And?" Her eyes searched his.

"Heh. And he kicked _both_ our asses without half trying. But he did it straight up, one at a time," Xander grinned.

"So, did you know Tor and Heidi would back you? Mister Hyena Expert?"

"Naw. Not until you sliced Rhonda down to size and I heard Heidi trying to choke back a laugh," Xander admitted. "But then? I knew she and Tor were going to do what Tor did in that lot behind Fong's, way back when."

"And Heidi would back Tor." Cordelia laughed into his chest again, and then pulled back and away. This time, he let her, holding onto her hand just long enough to press one more kiss into her open palm.

"Because Heidi and Tor are joined in some weird way. And they're partners, not just lovers. And because _Tor_ is a _real_ hard case," Cordelia said. "Not a pretend one."

"Yup. Genuine one hundred percent USDA Grade A bad ass. Accept no substitutes."

Cordelia nodded, her eyes serious. "And so are you."

"Huh?" Xander blinked at her.

"You. It's why men like John T. and Vin and Dude like you. Because _they're_ hard cases, and they can see a kindred spirit there," Cordelia said, her eyes earnest. "And why they have nothing but contempt for someone like Kyle, or a psycho like O'Toole."

Xander shook his head. "Naw. I'm an earnest coward, Cordy. If those guys like me, it's because I make them laugh."

"Right," Cordelia drawled the word out into at least six syllables. "Listen, Mister I Laugh in the Face of Danger and Then Hide Until It Goes Away. _Cowards_ don't throw themselves between a vampire and a girl they're not really sure they even like, thinking they're going to die."

"Someone had to," Xander said, shrugging. "I wasn't elected, but I got nominated real good."

"You. Idiot," Cordelia said. "_You_ stood there with Kyle and Psycho O'Toole and six other guns, including Tor and Heidi and whoever Angel is here, and that Slade guy that you know nothing about, and you stepped between me and them and you _taunted_ Kyle into trying you. And then you put him down, not _knowing_ if someone would shoot you for it. And you weren't scared."

"Cordy," Xander spread his hands, looking at her incredulously. "I was freaking _terrified_."

"No. You weren't. _I_ was terrified. You... well, ok, you were _scared_, but not frozen with fear and _paralyzed_ terrified."

"I was _scared_, Cordy," Xander said, glaring at her. He wasn't sure just why he was glaring at her, but it seemed like the thing to do. Only she wasn't glaring back, and _that_ was scary... "Too scared to do anything _else_, and too scared _not_ to do anything. I just..." Xander spread his hands again, "Did what was needed."

"Uh huh. Idiot," Cordelia said, again. She was as close to nose to nose with him as she could get at five seven and a half, looking into his eyes like she was trying to tell him something _desperately_ important, and he wasn't _getting_ it. Like Willow used to when she was trying to teach him Trig... "_That's_ what being a hard case is all about, dumb ass. That's what they _do_. That's what a _man_ does." She shook her head, still searching his eyes way too deep for him to know what she was seeing. "It's not _about_ not being scared."

"Tor wasn't scared," Xander said.

"_Tor_ is at least partly insane. You're _not_."

"I could get people to argue that with you," Xander said. He was somehow finding that he was backing up, Cordelia matching him pace for pace. He wasn't _sure_ why he was backing away from her, but there you go...

"I can out argue anyone. I'm the Bitch Queen of Sunnydale, remember?"

He suddenly found his back hitting the door behind him, with no idea how he got there. Maybe he could reach the doorknob without being noticed, and flee... naw. They say it's not good to show fear. They can turn on you, suddenly, if you do. Cordelia was still right up in front of him, her breasts against his chest, and her nose almost touching his.

"If you run, you'll only die tired, Goofy," Cordelia said, smirking up at him. She placed her palms flat on his chest, one over his heart. He wondered if she could feel it pounding to get out... "I'll run you down and _make_ you listen to me."

Xander believed her. Where the _hell_ had this... implacable _Valkyrie_ been hiding inside of his shallow, fashion obsessed girlfriend?

"I don't know what you _want_, Cordelia," Xander said, a bit desperately.

"I _want_ you to listen to me. I _want_ you to _believe_ me," Cordelia said. "I want _you_, for once in your life, to _listen_ to _me_, not to your inner Daddy Harris. I _want_, for _once_ in your life, for you to believe something _other_ than that little voice that says you're a coward and you're worthless, and _believe_ me."

"I'm listening, Cordelia," Xander said. He gave up. If it was _that_ important to her, he'd... _try_, at least.

"Good." Cordelia nodded her eyes still searching his, _riveted_ on his. "I've been watching my Daddy my whole, damn life, and I _know_. I _know_ what men are. _Real_ men. It's not _about_ not being afraid. It's about _doing_ the brave and idiotic thing, even when you're scared. Because it has to be done, and you're there. It's about protecting your girlfriend and other people even when you think you might die from it. It's what real _men_ do. Not little boys. What a _real_ hard case does. You."

"Then you're one too," Xander said.

Cordelia's turn to blink up at him. "oh?" she tilted her head, curiously. "How do you figure?"

"It takes vampires and demons and goblins and ghoulies to turn you into a screaming TV heroine. People won't do it," Xander said, a very faint half smile starting to curl up the corners of his lips. "_People_, you chew up and spit out. And step over the drained husk on your way to the next."

"I didn't there, not tonight."

"You did against Rhonda. And you told Jack off," Xander said.

"The Angel look alike scared the hell out of me," Cordelia said. "He looked at me like..."

"Like he wanted to drag you off, rip your clothes off, and screw the crap out of you, and you being willing was of the optional."

"Yeah. That."

"It's not about not being scared," Xander said, smiling crookedly at her. "I _get_ it. Besides, that's why you have men, right? So you have someone to lean on when you can't do it alone."

"Ah. I wondered," Cordelia said, biting her lower lip gently. "I thought it was as a useful replacement for cucumbers."

"That too." Xander leaned down, very slowly, until his lips met hers, briefly. He didn't have far to go.

Her head went back a bit more and she stepped back, and her chin went out, and her eyes flashed at him. "You were not wrong. I wouldn't hide from Jack back at home."

"Nope."

"Not going to here, either."

"Nope."

"We're going to go out and have dinner and see my grandmother -slash- aunt, like we planned. And we're so _not_ running."

"Nope."

"And stop saying 'nope'."

"Nope." Xander laughed, and mimed dodging a punch as she lifted her fist and shook it at him.

"You sound like Lopealong Cassidy in one of those stupid Western Channel horsepoke dramas," Cordelia said. She tilted her head, studying him intently, suddenly. "And I kind of _like_ newer, more confident Xander. You'd better not lose him somewhere when we do get back."

"I won't." Xander said, seriously, and then grinned. "And we don't poke our horses. That's illegal in most states."

She thumped him again. "So, when did this happen," she asked, curiously. "Another skill infusion from our Script Writer?"

"Naw. Always been there. Just... " Xander shrugged. "Only came out to play on occasion. Like when we were kids."

Cordelia nodded. She shuddered, and said, "Yeah. I remember. But only when someone was picking on Willow. Or me, or Jonathan. Never yourself."

"I could always joke or wise ass my way out of anything other than a roughing up or a shoving match, usually," Xander said. He shrugged. "But someone pushing and shoving on Willow, or you, or little Jonno wasn't a joke."

Cordelia's lips twitched at the corners again. "Black knight. On a fiery steed, at the speed of light... "

"And a hearty Heigh ho Silver." Xander laughed. "We were _seven_, Cordy."

"I quit believing in black knights with shining swords after about eight, or nine, when I had to give mine up," Cordelia said. "And fiery steeds."

"Me too. Complete and total idiots, we were," Xander said.

"Uh huh." Cordelia let the lip twitch bloom into a full blown Cordelia Chase smile. "We _so_ were." She nodded, "So, let's change clothes and head out, Lopealong."

"We don't have to go right now," Xander said, his voice gone suddenly intense.

"Oh?" Cordelia's eyes widened. "What did you have in mind?"

Xander reached up and put his hands on her waist, just above her hips. He leaned in and kissed her until she melted against him, her arms slipping around his neck and one foot hooking itself behind his leg to pull him in.

"Oh, that," she said, murmuring into his mouth. "Hrmm."

"It's still early. Just after dark, yet." He slid his hands up the curve of her back to her hair, kissed her more deeply, and then slid them back down to cup her ass. "We have candles."

"You still have clothes on. _Why_ do you still have clothes on, Doofus?"

Her arms came down from his neck, and he could feel Cordelia's hands jerking at the tie down strings, and then working between their bodies at the buckle to his gunbelt...

"I'm an idiot?"

"Swear to god, Xander. You _so_ are, sometimes."

The gunbelt hit the floor around his feet.

* * *

"Ummm. Wow." Cordelia said. "That was... so _not_ like what I expected."

"Uh? Worse?" Xander said, a bit hesitantly. Her fist thumped down on his chest.

"No. It was wonderful, idiot." Cordelia shook her head. "I swear, Mother was right about at least one thing. The male ego – _so_ fragile."

"It's a very fragile time in a young man's life for me, right now," Xander said.

"Don't worry. I'll be gentle with you," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes at him.

He was lying on his back, after, with Cordelia laying full length along him, her arms folded across his chest just at his collarbone, her chin propped on where they crossed. Giving him very Cheshire cat smile.

Or cat that ate the canary, one of the two...

Well, there _had_ been eating involved. Just not dinner, maybe.

"No. Just... different," Cordelia said. "So much _not_ like what I read in Cosmo, or heard from other girls, or fantasized about with a vibrator." She grinned suddenly, "And you _so_ didn't need to hear that."

"Uh. I could stand to hear _more_, actually... "

One of her hands went to play with the cross tattoo on his shoulder that he'd picked up earlier that summer when she and Oz and Willow and he went to the beach for the weekend. The day she got that sun-moon thing above her ass.

"So, you uh, never... ?"

"No." Cordelia shook her head, looking at him seriously. "Was going to, with Kevin. And then I accidentally hit the parking brake in his Miata, and we went downhill and hit a parked car. And that put an end to that. And then he... "

"Got killed by vampires right before the Master rose."

She nodded. "And _that_ put an end to _that_," she said. "I don't care what you may have heard around. Guys will say anything about a girl they went out with, and didn't get past second base with. Especially jocks."

"Ah." Xander nodded. "I kinda figured... "

"Except you, apparently. I never heard anything around school..."

"Hah! Who was I going to make up brags to? Oz? _Giles_?"

Cordelia snickered. "Oh yeah, I could _so_ picture _that_," she said. "And no, so not something I was going to do with a guy I didn't think I was in love with."

"Ah... "

Cordelia put her fingers across his lips. "No. _Don't_," she said. "Guys say they love you after sex, and they disappear. And you are so _not_ going to do the 'ride off into the sunset' thing on me."

"Heh. I always thought the guys in the old movies and TV shows that did that were idiots," Xander said. "And I even knew _why_ they were written that way." Cordelia raised her eyebrows, and Xander elaborated. "Serials. You couldn't have Gene Autry or Randolph Scott show up next show or next film married."

"Ah." Cordelia grinned. "And naturally, you can't have any drama or adventure with a happily married couple. Idiots."

"What I said."

"_Men_." Cordelia snickered. "Am _so_ going to have to introduce Women's Lib early here."

"If anyone can... " Xander laughed, then sobered and looked at her. Those hazel eyes... "So, when did you... "

"Know? You mean, _besides_ when we were six or seven?" Cordelia said. "And _not_ counting that day at the beach?"

"After you started getting, like, curves. I still remember that tiny pink bikini," Xander said, nodding. "I think I hit puberty that day."

Cordelia wrinkled her nose at him, smiling. "Hrmm. Maybe when I got scared that you'd turned into a fish monster. But probably when that vampire almost got me, the day Kendra got killed," she said. "And you threw yourself between us and yelled at me to run."

"Yeah. That was the day I figured out I wasn't going to die _from_ you... "

"Oh yeah. Like you didn't know _that_ already," Cordelia said. "After twelve years of fighting like cats and dogs and you stealing kisses every time I let you... "

"Which was kinda often, now that I think on it," Xander said. "Except for when you broke my nose."

"And you _so_ deserved that."

"Did not," Xander said. He arched his eyebrows at her. "So it is true. Guns _do_ make girls want to have sex."

"It _so_ is _not_!" Cordelia snickered at him. "I finally figured it out. More like... certain types of guys _with_ guns make girls want to have sex."

"Certain types?"

"Yeah. Scruffy hero types, like the kind that throws themselves at vampires without a thought. Or goad psychopathic idiots into getting close enough so they can break their nose, with six other guns looking at them..."

"Ah. _That_ type."

"Yeah. Like, _total_ morons. But they're addictive like chocolate and heroin... "

"Bet you can't eat just one," he said, and she stared at him, her eyes widening, and then she collapsed on his chest in helpless laughter.

"You are _such_ a jerk," Cordelia said.

"But funny, huh," Xander said, grinning at her. He rolled over, putting her on her back with her head in the crook of his left arm, looking up at him with her hair tumbled around her.

He smiled down at her, and leaned over slowly to kiss her. His other hand slid down her slowly, fingers trailing through the valley between her breasts, down across her stomach, and lower... she gasped and arched under his fingertips.

"Oh. Oh, gods... " Cordelia drew in a deep, ragged, shuddering breath, and then let it out in a long shuddering moan that raised the hair along the back of his neck. "Auuhhh... ughn."

"I hear that they _say_ it's always better the second time," Xander said.

"Bu-bu- bet- better?" Her eyes widened, and she stared at him. "I m-may die. But I-I bet I'll be smiling..."

Xander grinned wickedly at her, and rolled over to lean over her, drawing her legs up until her heels were hooked over his shoulders. He positioned himself at the, uh, passage to ecstasy, and slid part way up...

"Ohhh... "

"I'm thinking," Xander said, "More of a permanently frozen 'O' face."

"M-my. Confident, are you?"

He smirked and moved his hips forward, suddenly and hard. Cordelia arched under him, letting out a gasping scream. Her head jerked forward into his chest and her nails left long bloody trails across his ribs. He sucked in his breath.

"Yeah. Kinda like that."

"Augh," Cordelia hissed, her head going back and her eyes looking up into his, half lidded. "O-oh... sh-shut up and fuck me, Hyena Boy... "


	10. Good Friends, Fine Guns, Fast Horses

**Chapter Nine: Good Friends, Fine Guns, Fast Horses, and Good Whiskey...**

* * *

"_'Members of my Legion of Terror will attend seminars on Sensitivity Training. It's good public relations for them to be kind and courteous to the general population when not actively engaged in sowing chaos and destruction."_ ― the Evil Overlord List

* * *

Xander Harris looked across the table at his girlfriend. Ok, huh, promise rings... would that make her his girlfriend or his fiancée? Or something in between?

No matter: his, regardless of what it meant. Or _he_ was _hers_. Or something...

They were seated at a back corner booth at the main dining room of the Sunnydale Arms Hotel, where they were staying. After the, uh, festivities upstairs – good word that, 'festivities' – they'd been too close to starving to wait until they hit the Paradise.

Luckily, they'd discovered, whoever had sent them here and had provided the little Info Dump People in the backs of their heads, and the appropriate skill infusions, had thought of more than that. Just like with the weapons and horses and personal gear, their packhorse had been carrying a decent wardrobe for each of them among the other stuff. They'd had the hotel manager send a runner to the stables to have it sent over after they'd first checked in, before going down to the baths...

He'd found extra jeans, vests, shirts and whatever, along with an oilskin garment bag holding four late 1800's cut western style suits. Cory had had a number of dresses, skirts, and what-have-yous amongst the assortment of shirts, riding pants, jeans, and riding skirts.

They'd also found some ironwood stakes, a slim, straight bladed sabre, and a pair of short swords...

Yeppers. We might not be in Kansas any more, Toto, but we're _definitely_ still in Sunnydale.

Cordy currently had a stake tucked in her handbag. He had one tucked in his belt, in the small of his back. They'd left the swords in their room. But, Xander had recalled a) a few features of vampire and vampire killing lore from Giles, b) a couple of vampire vulnerabilities that weren't often useful, and c) a certain feature of black powder, and of early smokeless powder, dimly remembered from watching his uncle Rory night shooting varmints...

Cordelia was currently looking especially edible in another high necked, almost sheer white blouse with a blue gray long skirt, vest, and hip length form fitting jacket kind of thing with puffy upper sleeves. She looked every inch the proper Western 19th Century lady. All she needed was one of those matching hats with a trailing feather...

They almost hadn't made it out of their room. Why yes, she did look _that_ edible, thank you.

She also had her Smith and Wesson in a shoulder holster under the jacket thing, with the shorter one in the high-ride holster behind her right hip. And her backup in her purse...

Xander had gone with, just for grins (and because he really didn't want to embarrass Cordy, for once) a nice looking suit of a brown so dark it was almost black, with an ivory shirt with very faint, narrow, brown pinstripes. Dark brown and ostrich dress boots. He'd kept the Aussie hat. There'd also been a pair or so of alternative holsters for his handguns.

He now had the long barreled target HG in a clip shoulder holster under his left arm, under the suit coat, bowie under the right. And the five-and-a-half inch in a Threepersons behind his right hip. And, while they'd left the long rifle and the 1886 upstairs, he currently had Cordelia's Model 1892 rifle leaning in the corner of the booth nearby, in easy reach of his left hand. It was lighter and handier than the long ten-and-a-half pound 1886. Handier... hell, at six point five pounds, it felt like a switch in his hands. But it shot real nice, he seemed to recall...

Not a .40-82, but anyone who could just shrug off a .44 S&W Long, he didn't want to know. Cordelia was carrying her fancy new J.P. Sauer Drilling, instead of the rifle.

If the restaurant hostess that seated them had thought it odd or uncouth that he leaned the rifle up handy and where it was conspicuous to anyone who might want to cause them an issue, and who might recall seeing him shoot – she didn't say, or indicate in any way whatsoever.

Paranoid? Naw. Heh – scratch that. After that bit in the bath house salon, he was paranoid as all get out. He'd even specifically asked for a corner table out of line of sight of the windows.

"What?" Cordelia looked at him curious, apparently having noticed his intense gaze on her.

"Nothing. Just noticing how ravishing you look."

"Hah." Cordelia gave him the thousand watt smile. "You should know. You certainly ravished me thoroughly enough."

"And I'm thinking about doing it again," Xander said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Not in public, dear. You remember what Rory said."

"Are you ready to place your orders?" A waitress had appeared next to their table, as if by magic. Which, in Sunnydale... might happen. You never knew.

Xander looked up, smiling, and froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he was vaguely aware that Cordelia had also frozen, mouth half open in shock.

"Uh... " Xander nodded, a bit numbly. "_Ampata_?"

The girl blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Uh, sorry. You just look... so much like someone I once knew," Xander said, awkwardly.

"Oh." The pretty – very pretty – Hispanic girl smiled at him. "You might. I kind of remember you two from five or so years ago, before you left. But it's Ianara, not Ampata. Ianara Gutierrez."

"Ah. Must be it," Cordelia said, smiling at her.

"It's good to see you back," Ianara said, smiling. She leaned forward, and said in a conspiratorial tone, "And I hope you don't mind being the subject of gossip. Almost everyone is all abuzz about you coming back. _Especially_ with your fiancée winning first and grand in all three competitions." Her eyes flicked to the rifle leaning in the corner... "Is that... "

"No, it's Cordy's," Xander said. "Mine are stored."

Cordelia shook her head, still smiling. "And no. I've gossiped enough that it's probably only fair to be on the return end, for a change."

"Hey, I might mind," Xander said.

"Well, yes, but you're a guy. Who cares?" Cordelia said, and both girls giggled at his expression.

"Fine," Xander said, acting huffy. "I'll have a steak, with uh, whatever trimmings. Rare-medium rare." He winked at Ampata, uh, Ianara, to let her know he was only kidding.

"Me too. Ooh! No, the red fish, if it's fresh," Cordelia said.

"It is. Fresh from the Carpinteria docks, and kept on ice. We wouldn't serve anything less," Ianara told her. "Drinks?"

"Water and a beer. Something decent," Xander said, shrugging. "Mexican, if you have it."

"Same for me, too." Cordelia looked thoughtful, and added, "And bring us a bottle of wine also. Red. Possibly something from the Santa Ynez vineyards, if you have anything good."

She nodded. "I'll put these in, and bring you your drinks. Signal me if you need anything else, or refills."

She did those things, and then left them alone to go about her duties. A wine steward, or at least Xander guessed that was what he was, brought their wine. Xander let Cordelia do the cork sniffing and tasting and approval thing. He barely knew wine from red piss at this stage of his life.

Xander and Cordelia glanced around, Xander sipping carefully at his beer. Not bad. And the place wasn't exactly empty, for a Sunday night. Must be leftovers from the competition crowds and festivities.

He frowned, catching Cordelia's eye. "I see Mayor MacReptile is holding court over there."

"Uh huh," Cordelia nodded. "With, uh, what's their names, Stillwell and Maitland. And the two puppies." She glanced at him, smiling. "MacReptile?"

"Our esteemed Interim Mayor has eyes like a rattlesnake. Flat, cold, and dead."

"Ah." Cordelia shivered, and took a sip of her beer.

Boone, aka Stillwell, and Xander kept wanting to call him "Paladin", raised his wine glass to them in an ironic looking toast. Xander returned the gesture, just as ironically.

"So, Ampata," Cordelia said, arching her eyebrows at him. "Stirrings of old feelings? You looked like you'd seen a very welcome ghost."

"Stirrings, yes," Xander said, "But I'm not sure of what." He shivered.

Cordelia looked at him curiously, not saying anything. He shrugged, "More like... someone walking across your grave? That thing with her... uh, going all to pieces on me was... gross, and nasty. And really, really sad."

Cordelia nodded, sipping at her beer. "I know you liked her. You've said so, the little you've said about it."

"I did. Lots," Xander said. he paused, searching his feelings as much as he was for the right words. You just didn't tell a girl you've just slept with that you still felt sad over losing another one. Especially when one of the girls was Cordelia _Chase_. He might not know much about girls and relationships, but he knew that much. Or so he thought.

Xander shrugged, finally, giving Cordelia a wry feeling half smile. "Over and done. I like you now. And that bridge kinda burned itself in the nastiest and most final kinda way... Besides. Not that guy, not that girl, and this isn't that Sunnydale."

Cordelia nodded. "I wondered," she said. "And no, I wasn't going to bite your head off and storm out if you said the wrong thing," she added. "Not sure there is a wrong thing. Unless you'd just like, blatantly lied to me. Thank you for not."

"Ah."

"Sir, Madam, my apologies for the intrusion."

Xander and Cordelia looked up to see the Restaurant Manager standing by their table wearing a tux and looking very severe and very formal. "Mister Stillwell at the other table wishes me to inform you that your bill here is on him."

"Oh?" Cordelia raised and eyebrow, and then glanced over to the Mayor's table. She got a raised glass from Stillwell and from Wilkins and returned it. Xander glanced over as well, and smiled.

"Ah. If you would, please, tell Mister Stillwell that," Xander began. He paused for a moment, searching for words. "That," he said, "We thank him, sincerely, but we much prefer to pay our own way. That I'm not in the habit of accepting gratuities from strangers, and he hasn't hired me for anything that I'm aware of."

The Manager blinked and stared at him for a long moment, and then said, carefully, "Would you like to have that statement delivered in those words, sir?" Cordelia blinked, also, and looked at him curiously.

"_Exactly_ those words, if you would, please."

The Manger looked at him for a moment, and then broke out into a wide and genuine smile. He bowed slightly, his eyes dancing. "It would be my very great pleasure to do so, Sir. And if I might say, the Sunnydale Arms would be most _delighted_ to comp this meal for a returning son and daughter of our fair city."

"_That_, we'll be most happy to accept," Xander said. He inclined his head, grinning, and winked at the manager.

He got a wink back, and another slight bow. "I shall so inform the esteemed gentleman. Do enjoy your meal, and your stay. Oh – and congratulations on your wins today, Sir."

"That was very nicely done," Cordelia said, once the manager left. "Elegantly vicious."

"You don't have to look so astonished," Xander said, grinning at her.

"I'm just... stunned, I think is the word," Cordelia said. "My daddy couldn't have done it better."

"I steal only from the best," Xander raised and tilted his wine glass to her, and she clinked hers with him, grinning back.

Mister Stillwell surely didn't look pleased once the Manager finished delivering Xander's thanks and regrets. Neither did his son, or little brother or whatever he was. Nor did Mayor MacReptile. Maitland, however, looked faintly amused.

Well, just fuck Mister Stillwell and Interim Mayor Wilkins. Xander didn't work for either of them, last he checked, and wasn't going to have any possible misunderstandings about where he stood in the little mess shaping up in this town. Not after that business at the bath house, and the discussion with Sheriff Fat Bob.

"But was that smart?" Cordelia said.

"Probably not. But when have I ever been smart?" Xander said. Fuck 'em, he thought again. He'd rather be grouped with Dude. He liked Dude, and Dude didn't have eyes like a snake and Dude didn't have snakes working for him.

"On occasion," Cordelia said. She nodded, "You're probably right, though. I wouldn't care to have anyone who's kids run around with Wilkins' lackeys and Stillwell's goons thinking we owe him anything. Not even a meal."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Oh, look," Cordelia said, sounding a lot more happy. "Old friends. Well, not so old maybe, but it's starting to look like three days is a long time in this universe."

Xander followed her eyes and grinned. He caught their eyes and gestured, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, hell. If it isn't the Sharpshooter Kid and his pretty lady," Glenn said.

Kevin grinned down at them, "Might we join you two young dignitaries?"

"Why, are we coming apart?" Xander said, and gestured at the open other end of the curving booth. "Soitanly. Just don't call me Sharpshooter – I use a _Winchester_, not a Sharps."

"I always get those mixed up," Glenn said, sliding in, Kevin following after.

"No wonder you lost the long range, then," Kevin told him. "And the general."

Ampata, uh, Ianara came over and took their orders. They both had steaks, beers, and Kevin ordered another bottle of wine.

"That would explain it," Glenn allowed. He glanced at the '92 propped in the corner, and said, "Heard a rumor that the two of you had a mild discussion with some of Wilkins' goons, a bit earlier."

"Ah. Is _that_ what that was," Cordelia said. "I thought it was an altercation, but I always get those mixed up."

"You'll have to excuse my companion," Kevin said. "He gets confused over words with more than one syllable."

"Yep. My education is sadly lacking," Glenn said, grinning.

"We did. It was solved. It ended," Xander said. "And, so... I thought you two would be headed back to Santa Barbara and Santa Ynez by now?"

"Well, the caravan is staying over and heading out tomorrow morning, early. They're camped out near the Fort end of town," Glenn said. "And when we got here, I found a telegraph from Mister Chase asking me to look over some stock for him. So... "

"He's staying over a few days," Kevin said, "And as for myself, I decided to play a bit of poker and recoup my wasted entry fee."

"Ah. We're headed to the Paradise after this," Xander said, "But I don't think poker is on my menu."

"_Better_ not be. We're saving up for that clothes buying spree you promised me," Cordelia said. She nodded to the two friends. "You both look nice."

Xander wouldn't have said nice – hey, guy, and not gay, no matter what Larry thought – but they did have on their Sunday best. Glenn had changed into new, black jeans and fancy boots, with a black shirt with tiny silver and turquoise arrowhead pattern, and a braided bolo tie with a silver and obsidian arrowhead clasp. New gray Stetson with black and silver band. Kev had another of his black frock coat suits with a black shirt, and a similar bolo tie, only in native silver and malachite. And both had on their fancy gunbelts: silver trimmed and engraved like Lone Ranger rigs.

"Why thank you, young miss," Glenn said. "And if you don't mind my sayin', I'll extend the courtesy to you and your young feller here."

A nod from Kevin. "We'll walk over to the Paradise with you after dinner, and you don't mind."

"And if we do mind?" Xander asked, curiously.

"Why then, we'll just walk over there with you anyway," Glenn said, smiling.

* * *

"So... some stock?" Cordelia said, looking to Glenn. "Cattle or horses?"

"Both actually," Glenn said, while lighting an after dinner cigar. "There's a few studs here in town to look over, and Xander's uncle said he'd send down some nice colts and fillies, and a few yearling stud bull calves tomorrow or next day that he thought we might find interesting."

"Huh. Really?" Cordelia held up a hand, "Not really surprised, I guess... just..."

"Surprised?" Glenn asked, smiling.

"Well, yeah, kinda," Cordelia said, nodding. "I didn't think Rory really cared all that much for William Chase."

"Eh," Glenn said, shrugging. "No feud or anything, they're just not best pals. And neither of them like Maitland all that much."

"Besides," Kevin said, smiling. "What's _like_ got to do with business, anyway?"

"Too true," Cordelia said, nodding again. "Just always figured Rory would set a dislike in stone and then build monuments to it."

Xander laughed, nodding. Glenn grinned at her, and said, "I see you _do_ know Rory Harris."

"Well, sure," Cordelia said. "I mean, he practically helped raise us kids out there, until Xander and I fell out and I stopped hanging out with him and going out there."

"And yet you picked him to run away from Sunnydale with?" Kevin sounded honestly curious.

"Go figger," Xander said. Cordelia swatted him almost reflexively, and Xander added, "Help! Spousal abuse! Oh, help!" and got a real swat for his troubles. He grinned.

"Oh, hush, you. Jerk," Cordelia said. She shrugged, and answered Kevin. "Well, yeah. Not like we really _hated_ each other or anything," she forestalled any comment from Xander with a glare, and he held his hands up in surrender. "Besides, when he had to go on the run, I wasn't about to stay here alone with Jack O'Toole and Kyle, and there wasn't anyone _better_ to run off with."

"Ouch."

"Oh, bite me. You so _know_ that's not what I meant," Cordelia said, huffing at him. "And so _exactly_ what I _meant_."

"Are you _sure_ you two haven't _already_ been married for the past four years?" Glenn asked, laughing. Cordelia glared at him, and huffed again, folding her arms over her chest.

"I'm sure. I'll bet Cordy would have told me if we were," Xander said. "And in no uncertain terms."

"Got _that_ right, Goofball," Cordelia said, smirking.

They set off up the street for the Paradise, Cordelia picking up her shotgun from the Hotel veranda support she'd leaned it against while they were talking. Xander carried her rifle over his shoulder, hand on the pistol grip through the lever and finger outside the trigger guard, while she slung the drilling.

And if anyone thought it odd or scandalous to see a beautiful, well dressed young woman carrying a custom twelve gauge over her shoulder on a night on the town, well, screw 'em.

The Sunnydale Arms was one of the few brick or stone buildings in town right now, the others being the bank, Episcopalian Church, County Jail -slash- Courthouse, and City Hall. Most of the others were wood construction, wood frame and facade, and/or adobe, like the Mission and the one he'd spotted from overlooking the town. The one he'd identified as the Marshall's Office and Town Jail, from the town map in the hotel lobby. The Arms was a truly nice looking baroque type – he thought that was the word – multistory story building with gargoyle water spouts and fancy trim. Tallest building in Sunnydale right now, and would be for some time...

And one of the few he recognized as still standing in _their_ Sunnydale.

"Cordy and Jesse and I grew up together from about when we were about five, after mine and Jesse's dad and Cordy's dad got killed by bandits when we were young," Xander said. Info Dump guy had informed him that he and Jesse had been real brothers – half brothers to be precise – here, rather than just blood brothers, during the initial altercation with Jack when Cordelia had been remembering things to Dude and Vin...

"And love, friends, or doing the hate hate slap slap kissy kissy thing for a decade or not, no one hurt my girl and my brother and got away with it," Xander said. "_Nobody_. I wasn't leaving her with Jack and Kyle and their buddies, either."

"Wasn't _about_ to let him _hang_ for it, when we thought he'd killed O'Toole, either," Cordelia said. "We didn't know Jesse _died_ from being stabbed, and shot by Kyle. Not until later, and by then we were a long ways away... "

Glenn nodded. "Don't fault you for that. Was just curious, is all." Kevin nodded, giving Xander an approving look.

"By the way – who was the pretty woman sitting with Wilkins at table?" Xander said, curiously.

"Edna May Stillwell, Stillwell's oldest daughter," Kevin said. "Richard Wilkins has been courting her – and Stillwell through her, since he arrived in town, almost."

They came up on a three story wood building with an elaborate front facade, a ways farther up the main drag, and Xander's blood ran cold when he looked at the loungers on the long veranda. He nudged Cordelia and she stiffened, and gasped quietly.

Glenn and Kev looked at them curiously, and Xander said, softly, "Lyle and Tector Gorch."

"Ah, yeah," Kevin said, nodding. "Two of your esteemed Interim Mayor's, err, business associates and special assistants."

"And all of O'Toole's little gang of thugs except for Hauer and Barrie," Glenn said.

Yup. Sure was. And Wilson Slade, and Angel-Corby, and a rather dapper looking black man with a smirk and an expensive looking dark three piece suit to go with his Stetson and gunbelt.

He kinda hoped Tor and Heidi hadn't come to a bad end for helping them...

Xander smirked, and touched the barrel of the '92 to his hat brim in an ironic salute to Jack. Jack smiled back, coldly, and gave him a sarcastic two fingers to his own hat brim in return.

Angel doffed his Stetson to Cordelia, looking her up and down, smirking lasciviously, and Xander didn't like that at all.

He just didn't dislike it _quite_ enough at the moment to haul off and bring the Winchester down and over and pop him one between the eyes for it. Yet.

Give it time. He was developing an even stronger dislike for that smirking sonofabitch than he had had for _their_ Angel back in _their_ Sunnydale. At least _theirs_ acted like he had a soul, when he had it, and _he_ was a _vampire_. Wouldn't actually take much before just hauling off and shooting the man on general principles was a viable option...

Hell. It'd probably improve the species immensely. Kill him before he could breed.

"A lot of bars and saloons in this town," was all that Cordelia said, even when they were past. She hadn't even looked at them, beyond the quick glance to identify the Gorch brothers.

"Two," Kevin said. "The Double Eagle there, and the Paradise. And three cantinas, including one at the Fort Halleck end of town a bit out past the Marshall's Office."

"So, you know the Gorch brothers?" Xander asked.

"Unfortunately," Glenn said. "And know of, more than know. They make me feel a bit too hinky to want to _get_ to know them. Hear tell they massacred a village down in Mexico 'bout a bit over a decade ago. Also heard tell they died down in South Texas a decade ago, before they showed up here."

"That's not really a barrier to showing up all mobile and stuff, in this town," Xander said, sourly. Glenn and Kevin looked at him sharply, and smiled thinly.

"So I hear tell," Glenn allowed. "Negro fella with them also works for Wilkins, and you don't see any of them around outside in the daytime, I understand."

Hearing Glenn refer to the black man as a negro gave Xander a small start, until he remembered that that was probably a more common term here and now than 'black', and a lot more flattering than some terms in common usage now. And he was glad Glenn hadn't used any of the others – he liked the man too much to want a reason to dislike him.

"Trick, I believe his name is," Kevin said. "Elias or Hezekiah Trick, depending on whom you ask."

"And all three work for Wilkins?" Cordelia said, with raised eyebrows. She gave Xander a look with a troubled expression behind it.

"Past three years or so, yes'm," Glenn said.

"Trick is supposedly Wilkins' executive assistant," Kevin stated. "And, unofficial troubleshooter, I hear."

Xander nodded, his expression carefully blank. He was starting to get an unpleasant inkling as to why Whomever might have sent him and Cordelia to this time and place...

And internally cursing them a blue streak for not picking a Slayer to send. Like, oh, the wayward Buffy.

_'Heh. Can you actually picture _Buffy_ in a __Stetson__ with a stake and a __six-gun__?'_ Still Small asked him. _'And on a horse taller than she is?'_

No. Now that it was mentioned, try as he might, he honestly could not.


	11. A Host of Friends, and Unfriendly Hosts

**Chapter Ten: A Host of Friends, and Unfriendly Hosts...**

* * *

"_'__I reserve the right to execute any henchmen who appear to be a little too intelligent, powerful, or devious. However if I do so, I will not at some subsequent point shout __'__Why am I surrounded by these incompetent fools?!__'__"_ ― the Evil Overlord List

* * *

"Umm, sir?"

Xander looked back to the host in the foyer to the Paradise Saloon, curiously. "Yes?"

"Sir and Madame will have to leave their long arms with the Hat and Coat Check girl," the host said, looking almost regretful, "My apologies."

"Ah." Xander nodded and gave the man his very best and friendliest smile. Not the one that showed all the pointy teeth and the hairy, pointed ears. "No. We will not."

Cordelia looked at him hard, but didn't gainsay him.

The man blinked. "Um, sir? Paradise policy, I'm afraid."

"You heard the young man," a newly familiar and rich sounding voice said from behind Xander's shoulder, "We'll just waive that policy on my say so here, what do you say?"

The host nodded, smiling, as Xander turned. "Why, I say, yes sir, Mr. Halliday." He bowed slightly from the shoulders, "I was just – "

"And doing an excellent job of it, too," Brett Halliday said. "But, now, do you think that, given the way this young fellow shoots, that taking away his and his young lady's long guns will actually make anyone safer in the unlikely event that he decides to start trouble?"

"No sir, I really don't, now that you mention it," the host said. "Enjoy your time at the Paradise, Miss, Sir."

Xander nodded to him, and smiled as their little group followed Brett Halliday through the double archway and the bat-wings and into the saloon proper.

"Thanks, Mr. Halliday," he said, with Cordelia echoing him.

"_Brett_, son," Brett said. "Don't give me cause to question Rory's bringing up of you two, or I'll have to reconsider my decision back there," he finished, smiling.

"Yes sir, we wouldn't _dream_ of doing that, Brett," Cordelia said, smiling back. "And, thank you."

Brett nodded, and looked to Kevin. "Why my esteemed Mr. Smith. What brings you from your fine establishment all the way down here to our little entrepreneurship?"

"Why, Mr. Halliday," Kevin said, formally, while giving him a genuine smile back. "Just scoping out the competitor, to see if there's any worthwhile innovations – or employees – that I might wish to steal for my endeavors." He made a show of looking around and added, "Nope. Don't see any."

Halliday laughed, and shook Kevin's and Glenn's hands. "Well, thank God for that. I _hate_ being outbid for perfectly good employees."

"Kevin, Glenn, I hope my husband is being hospitable," a good looking woman said, coming up to them and slipping her hand through Halliday's proffered arm.

"Why yes'm, he is," Glenn said, doffing his hat. Xander and Kevin followed suit, Xander doing his level best to not have his eyes bug out or his tongue drag the floor.

Halliday might shoot him. Cordelia _would_ kill him. Slowly.

While Xander hadn't exactly seen any _ugly_ women since he got to this town, he had to admit, he also hadn't seen any that were capable of making _Cordelia_ look almost plain. Not until now. Brett's wife was dark complected – a cafe au lait with a bit less than normal cream – and absolutely gorgeous. Better than movie starlet gorgeous. Miss America or Miss Universe gorgeous. She was wearing a dark red with black embroidery long dress of the type that you saw the daughters of Spanish Dons wearing in Zorro movies, with a low cut and ruffled front. And one of those matching head things... he guessed it'd be a hat.

He'd _kill_ to see Cordy in that outfit. He'd have to buy her one.

"And I've told you before, my name is Veronique, not 'yes'm', Glenn," the beauty said, dimpling at him. Glenn him, not Xander him. If she dimpled like that at Xander him, he'd melt and –

– Xander realized he was actually babbling _mentally_, for Zeus sake, and reined himself in, with a monumental effort. Oh gods, just shoot him, stuff him, and mount him, now.

"Yes'm," Glenn and Kevin said in unison, smiling, and Cordelia laughed.

"Give it up, honey," Brett suggested. "I'm afraid these two may be incurably courteous to beautiful women."

"Not that, Brett," Glenn said. "It's just that I get so tongue tied around your wife, I figure it's best I keep my man of few words face on."

"And I figure it's the easiest way to stay un-shot," Kevin said.

"Oh, get on with you two," Brett said, laughing. "Go gamble or harass my hostesses or something."

"Yes sir, gladly sir," Kevin said, putting his hat back on after one more bow and a 'ma'am', to Veronique.

"Oh, those two," Veronique said, laughing. She looked at Cordelia and Xander curiously.

"Wife, allow me to introduce Rory Harris' nephew, Alexander, and his promised young lady, Cordelia," Brett said.

"Pleased," Veronique said, holding her hand out. Xander followed Cordelia's lead and managed to do the genteel handshake thing without drooling or embarrassing himself.

"Xander, ma'am," he said, amazingly without babbling or stumbling over his tongue. "Only Cordelia's dad ever called me Alexander. Or my grandmother."

"Xander," she said, looking them over. "Oh," her eyes widened slightly. "The young man and young woman who've been the talk of the town all afternoon and evening. I am pleased, and charmed."

Cordelia beamed at her. "I didn't realize winning a shooting contest or two would give us quite so much notoriety," she said. "And we didn't even take Grand Prizes, except for Xander in long range."

"And yourself in shotgunning, dear," Veronique said, her eyes dancing. "I wish I'd been there to see you taking small strips off of that idiot at entries, and then winning the shoot. Goddess knows I've wished I had done that to a few of these overly male 'little woman' types around here more often."

Xander raised his eyebrows at the 'goddess' phrasing. Cordelia blinked, but said only, "He annoyed me."

"Never a good thing to do, or a healthy one," Xander said. "Not with Cordy."

"You might not recognize her," Brett said, "Considering that the last time you met, she was oh, around ten or eleven. But Cordelia is Elena Consuela's great niece."

"Ah? Oh, of _course_," Veronique said. "Consuela will be so happy that you're here. I'll have someone call her out once you get settled in."

"Thank you," Cordelia said. "I'll be happy to see her – it's been several really long years."

"Tell you what," Brett said, "You see to that, and I'll see to giving our young celebrities the grand tour."

"Of course," Veronique curtsied to them – and was matched by Cordelia in a return curtsey to Xander's amazement, and swept off.

Brett proceeded to show them the place and its amenities. Xander had to admit, he was impressed. This place would have looked ritzy even in modern day Santa Barbara... The place was _gorgeous_. And probably _expensive_ – he wondered how many banks the old, well, not so old, cutthroat had had to rob to afford this much elegant opulence.

"Xander!" Cordelia hissed, swatting him. He blinked and gave her a curious look, his eyebrows raised. She yanked him down to whisper in his ear, "You made Harmony a Saloon Girl? And _Aura__ – _and Aphrodesia! And Lishanne!"

"Hey," he whispered back, starting to grin. "I didn't do it. Blame the Scriptwriter. Does seem oddly appropriate, though."

"Oooh... I am _so_ not talking to you any more," Cordelia said, letting go of his collar. Xander grinned, looking around. Sure enough...

"And up here are the bulk of the gaming tables," Brett said, showing them up the stairs. He'd registered their whispered conversation, but had left it to them, not exercising his undoubted curiosity.

"So I see... "

They found Vin, and Chance, at one of the rearward poker tables. When they were seen in return, Vince looked at his hand, pushed in his chips, and said, "Call." And then threw his cards in to the sounds of a number of groans.

He raked in the pot into his hat, along with his already high stack of chips, bills, and coin, and added, "Excuse me for a short while. But keep my chair warm – I may be back," and stood.

John T. did likewise, throwing his cards, and Vince, a disgusted look as he tossed his hand in. "Me too. And don't bother warming the chair – I'd do better just planting the rest and waiting for it to grow."

"Well, you seem to be making a profitable stay of this," Xander said.

"I'm getting by," Vince said, smiling.

"Don't listen to him," Chance said, disgustedly. "_He's_ cleaning up. The rest of us are getting by less and less."

"Well, he _did_ say he needed the money," Cordelia said, winking at Vince. "And I'll just bet the host had a real hard time classifying that thing," she added, looking at Vince's mare's leg.

"He purely did, young Miss," John T. drawled. "And a truly entertaining discussion it was, too."

"I'm suspecting you may have a low sense of humor, John T.," Xander said, grinning. "And are easily amused, to boot."

"He's been accused of both things," Brett said. "I suspect they may even be true, although I wouldn't say that to his ugly face."

"Snerk," Cordelia said, "Don't look now, but... "

"Oops. And on that note, I'll make a hasty escape," Brett said, grinning. "And leave these two to you and Vin here's gentle and tender mercies."

"Why, you just _do_ that thing, you old bandit," Chance said. "Ugly face, indeed."

"Don't listen to him, John," Cordelia said. "I think you have a very distinguished face."

"Yup," Vince said, rolling a smoke. "They carve things like that on mountains." John T. glared at him.

"I hear the two of you had a small altercation with a few old friends," John T. said, apparently deciding to ignore the quietly smiling Vince.

"Not so small, and not really friends," Cordelia said. "But, yes."

"Not a problem," Vince said, lighting his smoke. "I'll be escorting them around from here on in."

Xander stared at him, both touched and amused. "We _will_ be wanting to leave you sleeping on the mat outside our room when we go to bed," he said.

"I'll take it under advisement," Vince said, winking at John T.

"We seem to be developing a host of friends," Cordelia said, dryly, "A veritable _host_ of friends." Xander grinned at her, recognizing the El Dorado quote.

Heh. And _he_ hadn't thought she'd paid any attention to most of the movie fests.

"Well, it certainly does beat a host of enemies," the young blonde woman who'd been standing near and behind Vince's chair said.

Xander looked over at her and blinked. He managed not to glare, nor to have his jaw fall open.

_'Darla?'_ Still Small blinked also in the back of Xander's mind. _'The mind reels _and_ staggers.'_

Darla gave Xander a frankly sexual looking appraisal, almost visibly licking her lips. And she looked like she was breathing, too. And warm, judging by that slow flush...

"Have those too, honey," Cordelia said. "And I'd truly _hate_ to think we were gaining another." She took Xander's arm possessively. Vince and Chance watched the exchange with skeptical amusement.

"Easy honey, I'm _not_ rustling," Darla said, smiling. "Just window shopping. I can _see_ he's taken."

Cordelia nodded, her smile thawing a bit.

"Darla?" Xander said, finally. Cordelia gave him a sharp look, as did Darla.

"Darlene," she said. "And I don't believe we've met." She cocked her head at him, honest curiosity replacing the appraisal.

"Xander Harris," Vince said. "And this is his young lady, Miss Cordelia."

"Ah. The winners." Darla said. "Well, I can see you four have catching up to do. I'll see you later," she said, placing a hand on Vince's arm and smiling at him before moving off.

"Sorry, Vin," Cordelia said.

"Easy come, easy go," Vince said, smiling at her. "No harm done."

"Just out of curiosity," Xander said, "You _have_ seen her outside in the sunlight, right?"

Vince looked at him curiously, and nodded. Xander nodded back. "Just checking," he said.

"_Cordelia?_"

The four of them turned to see Cordelia's aunt bustling up in a rustle and sweep of skirts. Xander blinked, a slow half smile starting to replace the frown that Darla had given him.

Add another one to the GMILF sweepstakes. Or MILF, anyway. Rachel Westin herself. Or, rather, Elena Consuela Alonza de la Rosa, _here_. If Cordy _was_ really related to her in this universe instead of it being just a convenient Scriptwriter fiction, he could see where Cordelia got her beautiful and exotic looks.

"Cordelia!" Cordelia's Aunt Rachel Westin look alike swept Cordelia into an enthusiastic embrace, then held her out to look her up and down. "And young Alejandro." She glanced at the rest of them, did a slight double take, and smiled. "And John T. Chance. Bide a moment, John T.. I have a niece to visit with."

"By all means, ma'am," Chance said, smiling broadly. "Always a pleasure to await your pleasure."

"If it wasn't for your letters and occasional telegram, I would have given you both up for dead, sweetheart," Elena said. "You _are_ looking wonderful. And young Alejandro is looking very handsome."

"Thanks, Aunt Elena," Cordelia said, hugging her back, smiling.

"And it's Xander, ma'am," Xander said, getting a not entirely unwelcome and entirely enjoyable hug of his own.

"Nonsense. You are an Alejandro if I ever saw one, and I'll have no arguments," she told him, hands on hips. "_Xander_ is such a silly name for such a good looking and skilled young man."

"It is, really," Cordelia said, grinning at both of them. Xander glared at her sidelong. It, predictably, rolled off like water.

"_You_ I'll let call me that," he told Elena. "Mostly because I know better than to try and stop you," he added, smiling.

"Well, of course you will," Elena said. "And, it is John T., here, of all places." Chance got the hug treatment too, and looked like _he_ was enjoying it all too much as well. Xander didn't blame him.

Trust John T. and Rory to nail down two of the best looking women in Southern California, next to his Cordelia and Brett's wife. Not that Xander would even dream of begrudging it to them.

Chance was not someone he ever wanted to have pissed off at him, anyway, for any reason, ever. The man was just too damn big, and far too good with that Winchester.

And rapidly becoming a friend, too, naturally.

* * *

They had retired downstairs to the elegant main bar in the Paradise's huge Royal Salon, as Brett had introduced it to them. He hadn't been being overly grandiose, Xander had to admit. It was pretty royal looking.

He'd spotted, and vice versa, Tor and Heidi sitting at one of the Salon's rear poker tables, satisfying him that Jack hadn't killed them out of hand for backing him and Cordy at the bath house. Tor had given him a one finger salute from the brim of his hat, and Heidi a half smile, when they'd seen him.

Xander was surprised at the sense of relief that had flooded him at that knowledge. Then again... Tor and Heidi _hadn't_ had to risk their asses pulling the two of them out of a tight spot. Especially not when it involved crossing their pack, and two of their employer's sponsor's pet thugs.

He'd have felt bad if they'd gotten killed over that.

While Elena, Cordelia, and John T. visited a very short way down the bar, Xander leaned back against it sipping at a very, very excellent Irish Whiskey and talking quietly with Vince, just soaking in the atmosphere and watching the house. Apparently, one of the things their Esteemed Sponsor had done was adjust his alcohol tolerance – not that he'd ever really tested it back home: hey, seventeen, for crying out loud. While he had kept himself to two beers and a couple of glasses of wine with their dinners, and one glass of good whiskey and soda as an after dinner drink with Kev and Glenn, not much at all.

Still he'd of expected to feel more than just a very slight, tiny buzz and a very mild tingle from that. He doubted his shooting or his reflexes were impaired...

Of course, he _would_ doubt, wouldn't he? He made a mental note to not have any more, and to not get into any gunfights after this. Not that he'd planned to, anyway.

While he and Vin were shooting the breeze about nothing much, and everything important, he spotted Kevin, err, recouping his entry fee – and then some – at one of the other poker tables. And Glenn at the other bar across the room. Glenn tipped his drink to him, and Xander returned the silent toast.

Chance had his carbine, also. Apparently, having a Deputy Marshall's badge exempted you from the ban, or else the host hadn't wanted to argue the point with him. He mentioned as much to Vince.

Vince laughed quietly, and quirked an eyebrow. "Would you?"

"Oh, hell no," Xander said. "I'd treat it like the question of 'where does the eagle land?'"

Vince raised the other eyebrow, and Xander elaborated. "Anywhere the hell he wants to."

Vince chuckled. "You are not wrong there." He looked curiously at Xander, and said, "Not gambling?"

"Not one of my vices, really," Xander said, sipping his Irish.

"Thought you won those big rifles in poker, your girl said?"

"That wasn't gambling," Xander said, deadpan. "That was _poker_." Vin chuckled again, and nodded. "Besides," Xander said, "I was not only younger and stupider then, but we needed the winnings badly enough I was willing to risk it. Had to find some way to live, and something to live on."

"Without working for a living."

"Poker _is_ hard work," Xander said.

"Is if you do it right," Vin said, agreeing. "Was wondering. What cartridge does that long lever action of yours take? Don't believe I've ever seen that caliber."

"Ah. .40-82 Winchester Express," Xander said. He dug a round from each out of his vest pocket, and passed them to Vince. "Standard round, unlike the custom .40-140-3 ½ the long rifle takes. But the '86 barrel has a tighter than standard twist to stabilize longer and heavier bullets."

Vince looked the long, tapering round over curiously, and bounced it in his hand, testing the weight. He whistled softly. "Nice. And custom loading, definitely." He raised his eyebrows, "Around three hundred grains?"

Nod. "Two eighty-five, but I have three hundred and three-fifty grain loads as needed."

"Uh huh," Vince handed the round back to him, and dug one of his from his belt, passed it over. "Custom, also. .45 handgun basic cut to one and six tenths, formed, and trimmed and loaded to the max length for the '92 action with a hundred and ninety grain flatnose. Necked to forty-one caliber. Hits harder than most '92 chamberings."

Xander examined it curiously. He'd wondered, during the shoot, looking at the rounds in Vince's belt loops, but hadn't gotten around to asking. It resembled a fatter and longer version of one of the .22 Remington Jet rounds _his_ Uncle Rory had for one of the pistols in his collection.

"Interesting," Xander said, passing it back. He grinned, "Not gonna ask something dumb like, 'how's it shoot?', 'cause having _seen_ your shooting, I doubt you'd own an inaccurate gun _or_ round."

"It gets by," Vince said, and Xander laughed.

"Where's your new Big Fifty," he asked. "In the coat check?"

"Safe keeping in the hotel lockup," Vince said. "Not carrying it 'til I can get out and sight it in tomorrow."

"Good plan." Xander grinned to himself. Regular guys hang out and talk cars and girls. _Gun_ people hang out and talk guns and shooting. Especially shootists...

Tools of the trade, and all.

Xander caught something out of his peripheral vision, and turned his head to look, his eyes narrowing. He saw Darla – the Darlene girl – heading towards the doors at the back of the Salon on Tector Gorch's arm. With Lyle following a bit behind.

_'Uh oh,'_ Still Small Voice said. _'Shades of Jesse. And irony, thy name be Darla... '_

Yup. And ironic or not, you just _can't_ let someone be eaten by a vamp...

Not if you can do anything about it. Xander caught Cordelia's eye, and signaled towards the exiting trio with his. She followed his gaze, and scowled.

Xander picked up Cordelia's rifle off the bar top and handed it to Vince. "Hang onto this for me, would ya? I need to seek out the sign of the crescent moon out back," he said.

Vince raised his eyebrows and Xander added, "And yes, I can go to the outhouse alone. I do have my handguns, this time." He smiled, and Vince nodded.

He headed back following, and behind him he heard Cordelia saying something about being back in a bit to Chance and Elena, but he wasn't really listening back there...

Up ahead, it sure didn't sound like Darla, or whoever she was, had clue one that Tector and Lyle were vamps. Or that she even knew what a vampire was. _So_ much not of the good. At least that Trick character wasn't around, not inside anyway. Xander had looked, automatically.

Thou shalt always be aware of the vamps in thy surroundings. Catechism of the Hellmouth.

Xander stopped at the door leading to the egress, giving it a twenty Mississippi count before exiting after. He hoped like Hell that the Gorch brothers weren't stupid or hungry enough to just drain her right at the door as soon as it closed behind them...

Cordelia caught up to him at about seven Mississippi, with her J.P. Sauer. He glanced over at her and said, quietly, "Didn't mean you needed to come along."

"You _actually_ thought I _wouldn__'__t_?" Her eyebrows arched at him. "We _so_ need to discuss our partnership skills, Jerk," she said.

"Oh, I _knew_ you would," Xander said, smiling. "Just hoped you wouldn't."

"As if."

Xander snickered and opened the rear exit door, drawing the stake from behind his back as he went through, low, quiet, and fast.

The two vampires and Darla were at the end of the alleyway behind the saloon when they stepped through and looked around. Darla was saying something along the lines of, "Well, I hadn't known you planned a three way party, but that's all right. It _will_ be extra, though."

Neither vamp had vamped out yet, thankfully. And neither noticed them until he and Cordelia had almost caught up.

Lyle heard something, or saw something from the corner of his eye or just smelled them or whatever. He vamped out, growing fangs, brow ridges, and yellow, lambent eyes. Tector, a bit behind him with Darla, turned at that and vamped out as well, shoving Darla out to the side.

"Stay put, darlin'," he said. "We'll want dessert." He grinned and added, "Hey, look, Lyle. Appetizers."

"Right friendly town," Lyle said. Darla caught a good look at both of them and screamed, freezing up against the wall she'd hit.

Better if she'd run like hell, but hey. Civilians.

Both Gorch's were wearing Remingtons in low slung Mexican style bandido gunbelt rigs, and had some sort of bird's head gripped Colts in twin cross draw Doc Holliday style shoulder rigs. Tector didn't reach for any of them, as he approached, even as he saw Xander's stake.

"You shouldn't go outside with strange men at night, girl," Cordelia said to Darla. "And these two are stranger than most."

"Stupider and uglier, too," Xander said.

Tector jerked at that, and grinned nastily. "Well, if it isn't the Sunnydale Kid," he snarled out as he came in, fast, but not _vampire_ fast. He avoided the stake in Xander's left hand, slapping it away as he approached and –

– Xander's hand blurred out from behind his hip, coming out with the big Hamilton-Grover five-and-a-half inch.

Tector had just enough time to laugh and get out, "Guns don't hurt – " as Xander stepped in and pushed it up against his body to contact range and pulled the trigger.

"– us, boy."

Then his face went all odd looking, well, odder, and got a bit frightened. Xander thumbed back the hammer and fired again. Flames started suddenly, burning outward from the double hole in his gut, and he suddenly burst into flaming dust.

"Muzzle blast, dumb ass," Xander said. He knelt to recover his stake from where it'd fallen nearby. "Don't leave home without it."

"_TECTOR!_" Lyle shouted, and Darla made incoherent noises.

"Hey, Ugly," Cordelia said. She stepped up beside Xander where he was definitely outside her line of fire, and wouldn't be deafened by muzzle blast. Thankfully. A twelve gauge was _loud_. She pulled the trigger and a load of probably double-ought hit Lyle high in the chest. He staggered.

She pulled the other trigger as the Sauer Drilling came down out of recoil, and Lyle staggered again as a slug hit him in the middle of the bloody mess that his chest was now.

"That won't _kill_ you, but I'll sure bet it _hurts_," she said. She was stepping back to break open the action as Xander moved in with stake and pistol.

Xander vaguely registered a dark shape step up behind Lyle as he moved up. There was an odd sound, and then Lyle arched backward, and suddenly burst into dust with the weird screaming hiss of an escaping demon.

"Wh-whu-what the _hell_?" Darla said, stammering in shock.

"Uh, umm, a trick of the light, my d-dear," the suddenly not quite as dark shape said.

"_Giles?_" Cordelia said, incredulously, stepping back up beside Xander, her reloaded drilling in hand.

"Well, I see you've already learned how to deal with some of the local varmints," Tor's voice said, from back the way they'd come out...

* * *

"Yeah, was just an _awful_ shock when we started to catalog the native wildlife," Heidi said.

"I'll just bet it was," Xander said, his voice dry. He glanced around, but apparently Giles had taken advantage of their turning toward Tor's voice to split. Disappeared into the darkness, like Batman. Or Angel.

Xander looked past Tor and Heidi to where Vince and John T. were standing, Vince now with Cordelia's Winchester back over his shoulder, and Chance leaning against a wall, his Winchester on his hip, pointed up. Darla ran over to Vince, leaning up against him with her arm around his waist – _not_ under his gun arm.

Somehow, neither man looked all that shocked by men who vanished into clouds of dust. Unlike the shaky and freaked out Darla...

He grinned at Vince. "_Thought_ I said I could take a leak alone."

"The Paradise has indoor plumbing," Vin said.

Xander and Cordelia both looked pointedly _past_ Vince and Chance, raising their eyebrows.

"Silly us," Glenn said. "We figured you didn't have enough help taking a piss just with these two. And your girl to hold it for you."

Cordelia started laughing.

"Damn sure showed us," Kevin said. "Ma'am." He touched a finger to his hat brim, and they both turned and strolled back to the rear exit, now entrance door.

"Gather the local wildlife is not a major shock to you two, either," Heidi said.

"Seen a few strange things here and there," Chance allowed. "Especially down across the Rio."

He tucked his rifle into the crook of his arm, and started rolling a cigarette. Vince followed suit, only one handed.

"What he said," Vince stated.

"Well, it sure the hell is to me!" Darla said. "What in God's name _were_ those two... _things_?"

"Vampires," Xander said, deadpan. "Didn't you read Bram Stoker?"

"B-b-bu-bu- " Darla took a deep breath and got her voice under control, her eyes almost anime wide. "But that's a _novel!_ Fiction!"

"More of a how to manual with fictional characters," Xander said. "At least, I _think_ they're fictional characters."

"Getting hard to tell these days," Cordelia drawled.

"It surely is, honey."

"There's a _manual?_" Tor said, raising his eyebrows.

"We're _always_ the last to hear," Heidi said, looking disgusted.

"Hell, I didn't know you could read, Tor," Xander said.

"She helps me with the big words like 'cat' and 'the'," he said, pointing at Heidi.

"Well, thanks, you two," Cordelia said. "You four."

Tor shrugged. "Looks like you got it well in hand. Later." He draped an arm across Heidi's shoulders and they headed past Vince and Chance and back into the Paradise.

"What he said," John T. said. "So, this town have a lot more of that kind of wildlife?"

"If it does, I am the hell leaving," Darla said. Cordelia grinned at her.

"'Least one more I know of," Xander said. "He works for Mayor MacReptile also."

"Won't help, girlfriend," Cordelia said. "I'm told that there's at least a few almost everywhere there's lots of people."

Darla shivered, and pressed in closer to Vince. "I'll take the gal in and buy her a drink or two."

"Or three," Darla said.

"More than two, we'll have to negotiate, or you're buying your own." Vince winked at Cordelia and Xander.

"Dude mentioned that three of the Interim Mayor's help weren't ever seen outside in daylight," Chance said, quietly as Vince and Darla headed in. "We weren't sure exactly what it meant, but we figured they bore keeping an eye on."

"Yeah." Xander said. "Pretty sure that Trick character is one also. He just gives off that vibe, you know?"

"Not sure what a 'vibe' is, son," Chance said, "But I catch your drift."

"Wood through the heart, cut off the head completely, or," Cordelia looked sharply at Xander, "Shooting them at contact distance with something big. That _is_ what I saw you do, right? And what was that about muzzle blast?"

"Yup, was," Xander said, nodding. "And, gunpowder _burns_, especially smokeless. But black powder burns pretty good too. But it doesn't _all_ burn – and a whole _lot_ of white-hot burning gases and unburnt and burning powder comes out the end of the barrel. "

Chance was nodding at Xander's explanation. "It surely do."

"Ah. And vampires burn," Cordelia said, nodding.

"Pretty easily, too, considering I lit one up with a zippo, once," Xander said. He looked to where Lyle had been standing, and back to Cordelia. "With a pattern that tight, though," he said, "You could probably aim for the neck and decapitate him."

"I'll remember that," Cordelia said, looking down at the 26" barreled drilling.


	12. It Never Hits the Fan Just a Little Bit

**Chapter Eleven: It _Never_ Hits the Fan Just a Little Bit at a Time...**

* * *

"_A weapon is a device for making your enemy change his mind.__"_ ― Lois McMaster Bujold (The Vor Game)

* * *

"Two, please," Xander said. He tossed in his discards and accepted the pair that the dealer slid to him. He did _not_ rearrange them in his hand.

This was recreation, not poker, really – but there was no reason to be stupid about it.

Xander had a simple method of insuring it was recreation and nothing more. He decided how much he was willing to lose, and gave everything _except_ for that to Cordelia to keep. So far, he wasn't losing...

He wasn't winning big either, but that was ok. He was better than maybe a thousand ahead of where he started. And, he'd just drawn the Ace he'd wanted. Giving him a neat full house, eights and three Aces. Heh. He resisted the impulse to grin at the reverse 'Dead Man's Hand'. _He_ had _his_ back to a wall...

He glanced at Vince suspiciously. The man was just too good and too lucky. Not as in _cheating_ too good or lucky, just a damned good poker player; just like he was a damned good all around gun hand. _And_ enjoying the favor of Tyche to boot. He wouldn't put it past the misbegotten gods to give Vin a flush or something, just because Xander had a full house, and they wanted to remind him of _exactly_ who the Butt Monkey of the Universe was.

And Vin was smart enough to make amply good use of it. And he had a poker face that gave away exactly zero, and very few tells that Xander had been able to pick up on...

He was grateful to the Scriptwriter for giving him good card playing skills in the skill infusion. And he didn't feel a bit guilty about using them, either.

Every single penny won was another cent towards his and Cordelia's upkeep if they happened to end up staying here when all was said and done. Paranoid much? Why yes, why do you ask?

What he had on the table in his pile was pocket money, almost, though. Between his shooting prizes, what was left of their earnings in Oz, and Cordelia's almost five grand – grand! - of winnings betting on him, they could probably afford to buy their ranch now. A big one, maybe, and _stock_ too, depending on what the price per acre per parcel was in Colorado or Montana...

Their second day here in town after the big shoot and the confrontation with Jack O'Tool and his buddies. Their fifth day here in this world and time? Fourth day? Something like that.

It seemed like weeks, already...

Xander tossed a few chips in for the next bet, matching Vin's raise. More or less without paying attention to the game – playing the people around the table, more than the cards.

Jack, Kyle, and that Corby guy hadn't hassled them again. Actually, they hadn't even seen the gang, not since passing them on the veranda of the Double Eagle. Just as well. They'd seen Heidi and Tor a couple of times, at the dining room and lounge of the Arms, and here at the Paradise. Both had been friendly, but not overly so.

It was almost like Tor and Heidi were watching and weighing him and Cordy. Or watching to see what they'd do.

After encountering Oz at the Livery, and Ampata and Darla at the hotel and here, they hadn't encountered anyone else they recognized yet. Just as well...

Xander was trying hard not to even _think_ about whether there were counterparts to Buffy and Willow here. He just didn't want to – no. Better not go there.

It had little to do with being unable to picture Cowgirl Buffy with a stake and sixgun. Xander just wasn't real sure he _wanted_ to see Buffy right now, either in their own world and time, or here in Wild West World.

Buffy had put recovering Dead Boy practically over the lives of everyone else important to her, and to Xander, and had put all their lives at risk. And had damned near gotten _Willow_ and Cordelia killed. _Had_ gotten Kendra killed.

And _then_ she abandoned them. Fuck her.

Xander was surprised briefly at the sudden rush of resentment that washed through him, thinking about that. Then again, it stood to reason... playing Nighthawk, Boy Slayer and putting his best friend and girlfriend at even _further_ risk while taking up the slaying hadn't exactly been high on Xander's list of "what I want to do on my summer vacation."

Sure, they'd been doing amazingly well at it, all things considered. But there had been some terrifyingly close calls, too...

Again, fuck Buffy. The flush of dull anger _did_ tell Xander that he _didn't_ want to encounter either Buffy while he was holding a heavy caliber rifle in his hands. Not right now.

Just no telling what he might do. And he'd be certain to regret it, whatever it was.

It was possible that he was becoming entirely too Old Westernized, entirely too fast, Xander reflected. That would worry him, he thought, if it weren't for the fact that it was sure to increase his survival chances here.

Just in case they never made it back home...

Xander also didn't even want to _imagine_ Willow stuck here in West World with them. Talk about a Jewish fish out of water...

'_Good thing, anyway,_' Still Small observed. '_If past-counterpart Willow _were_ here, you'd spend all your time trying to protect her. And probably manage to get yourself and Cordelia killed doing so._'

Yup. Got that right, bud. And _that_ is a distraction I _don't_ need...

There's enough things here that are likely to be the death of me as it is.

He made or met his bets on autopilot, pretty much, while he was daydreaming. Err, night dreaming. Whatever. When the last one was in, and the pot was about as big as he figured anyone except Vin had the nerve for, he looked at the guy across from him that had been pushing it higher.

And smiled.

"See it," Xander said, sliding five hundred into the center. "And raise it... oh, five hundred more." He counted out the cash from his pile, and added it to the pot.

"You are _not_ gonna just _buy_ this pot, kid," the man said.

"You don't meet it and call," Vin said, "He just might at that." He slid his in from his bigger-than-Xander's pile.

The man, a professional gambler type, or rather, wannabe, fiddled with his stack, counting his cash for the third time now. The rancher next to him smiled and tossed his cards in, saying, "Too rich for me."

A bead of sweat trickled down Nervous Nelly's temple. He rearranged his cards once more, then scowled and shoved the majority of his showing funds into the pot. "See it _and_ call."

Nod. Xander shrugged and laid his full house down. "Let's see your cards."

Vince smiled, turned his hand face down, and slid it into the center. He pushed his hat back on his head and said, "Congratulations, Xan."

Nervous Nelly stared at that full house like wishing and concentration could make it turn into a simple pair of deuces or something.

"Shit!" he said, finally, and threw his cards down in the center of the table. They didn't all land face up, and Xander didn't bother to ask what his hand was.

"Thanks, Vin," he said, and reached out to rake his winnings in. He separated out the other guy's cards, tossed them back in the center, and started scooping money and chips off the table into his hat.

"Damn, Xander," Darlene said from her perch leaning against Vince's chair. "Now I truly believe you won those two fancy rifles in a poker game, like I'd heard."

"You doubted?" Xander gave her the lopsided half grin. He'd decided that this Darlene wasn't Darla, no matter how much the resemblance in looks, and she was purely OK by him, now.

"Wait – you're not going to give me an opportunity to win it back?" Nervous Nelly asked, staring incredulously at Xander as the pot and Xander's winnings and stakes disappeared into the Aussie hat.

"Nooo... I'm gonna take this over to that table where my lady is sitting with John T. and Elena, and then I'm gonna count it, and put it away," Xander said. "And then we're going to have a drink and eat and go and watch the show when it starts."

The dealer watched the whole exchange expressionlessly, just as he had the game.

"But you _have_ to give me a chance to win it all back," Nervous said.

"Occurs to me, he already did," Vin said. "You, uh, lost."

Nervous stood suddenly, glaring, and the dealer touched his visor bill to adjust it, his little finger held straight up.

At least that's what Xander saw from the corner of his eye. He also saw, in peripheral vision, Vin's right hand disappear under the table.

Xander kept his gaze locked on Nervous Nelly's. "I don't _have_ to do anything." Xander flipped a twenty dollar gold piece into the center, with his left hand. "You _might_ want to relax and buy yourself some drinks, on me."

"Problem of some kind?" Brett appeared beside and slightly behind the guy like magic. He put his hand on the guy's shoulder, his left hand.

"This... _kid_ isn't giving me a chance to win some of my stakes back," Nervous Nelly said, heatedly.

"Ah. I see. Well now, actually, he did that thing when you lost it to him," Brett said in completely genial tones. "And before you do more than fondle the butt of that pistol, _I'd_ remember that that _kid_ won the Fast Draw Accuracy and a whole bunch of other events in yesterday's sporting event."

"I really don't care what he won," Nervous said, tightly.

Brett's seven and a half inch Colt bounced its heavy butt off of the man's skull, and he collapsed. Brett caught him under the armpits as he fell, with an 'oof!'. "A pity, that. Would have saved me the effort of having you dragged out."

He sat the man down in his chair, slumped to one side. "Bert? Have someone haul him off please. And tuck that gold piece Mr. Harris was so nice as to offer him in his vest pocket before he goes." Vin's hand came back up to the top of the table.

"Thanks, Brett," Xander said, standing.

"Next time, irritate someone who's not quite as heavy, and we'll call it even," Brett said, smiling. "I'm getting old."

"Hah." Vince looked at him, pursed his lips, and said, "Occurs to me you might of picked up that trick watching Wyatt and his brothers."

"Might have at that," Brett said. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, gents."

* * *

When they came up, Cordelia was telling Chance and Elena about them going with Vince to sight in his new rifle, and to check the rifle and slug barrels on her drilling.

"And I took Cordelia for some of that shopping spree she was wanting, too, yesterday." Xander said, pulling out a chair. Leaning over, he kissed a grinning Cordelia on the cheek as he sat down.

"Well, how did you do?" Cordelia asked as Vince took another seat at their table. John T. looked at him curiously also.

"Oh, not bad," Xander said, emptying his hat and starting to separate out chips, bills, and coin from each other. After putting the hat down, naturally.

Cordelia blinked, and Vince pursed his lips and said, "I make it about three and a half to four thousand over what he sat down with. Most of it in that last hand."

"I'd expect you're probably right," Xander said.

"Wow." Cordelia said. "I mean, wow." Xander looked up, grinning and winked at her.

"Cordelia tells me the two of you are thinking about getting your own place," Elena said. "That will certainly help." She smiled at Xander, and added, "_After_ you are married, of course."

"Yes ma'am," Xander said. "I won't have my future wife living in sin with me."

John T. snickered, and Cordelia shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, it's not the sin that bothers me, Alejandro," Elena said, winking at John T. "It's just that after having dragged her all over the country and to several others, she deserves it for standing by you all this time."

"You are not wrong, Elena," Xander said, dead pan. "And I deserve a wedding night for having her sharpen her tongue on me for four years."

"You _will_ pay for that, Xander," Cordelia said, all syrupy sweetly, smiling.

"Uh oh." Vince said, edging his chair away.

"Oh, hush, you."

"Guess she told _you_," Chance said.

* * *

They were all standing about talking in the lobby -slash- foyer area, about to head into the main ballroom and stage to take their seats for the after dinner show. Elena was talking quietly to John T., Veronique, Brett and Dude off to one side, with one hand on Chance's forearm.

He, Vin, Cordelia, Darlene, and Glenn and Kevin were standing in another small group, making casual conversation as well, enjoying the afterglow of those truly _excellent_ steaks. Glenn, Kevin, and Vin were also enjoying a trio of excellent and aromatic cigars...

And Jack and his crew, along with Angel -slash- Bill Corby and Josh Stillwell and Blake Maitland were over towards the other side of the entry hall arguing with a couple of the 'Hostesses', read: saloon girls. Aphrodite and Aura, err, _Aurora_ Breckenridge, to be exact.

And Stillwell and Maitland were far too drunk, naturally.

_'I've seen this plot before, somewhere,'_ Still Small said. _'I just know it.'_

Me too, bud, Xander thought. I have a bad feeling about this, all of a sudden.

_'Thank you, Obi Wan,'_ Still Small said. _'We would be lost without you.'_

He was just about to open his mouth to say something to Kev and Glenn, and then maybe head over to Dude, when it all started going bad.

And then it got worse, in a hurry.

Takes a long time to make something right, but it can all go to hell in a heartbeat and a hand-basket.

Aurora raised her voice, suddenly, and there was what sounded like a drunken exclamation from Stillwell. Followed by the sound of a slap, and heads turned that direction from all over the room.

Aurora tried to yank her arm out of Stillwell's grasp, and he yanked back, sending her off balance and up against him. There was another slap, this one caught by Corby before it could leave another red palm print on Stillwell's face. A pity, that.

Brett was suddenly over there, holding his hands up, palm out, with his voice soothing. He was good at that almost teleporting to trouble spots thing.

"Now, son, why don't you let go of the young lady, and we'll see what we can do to talk this out," Brett said.

Cordelia took Xander's non gun arm with the hand not holding her drilling, and said, quietly, "Uh oh."

"Uh huh," Xander said, just as quietly. He could already see that it wasn't going to work. Maybe a full minute before Chance and Dude did, unfortunately. But he couldn't quite bring himself to just shoulder the rifle and end it in cold blood... Pity that.

Stillwell shoved Aurora violently to one side, into Corby, who caught her by both arms, smirking. Xander was beginning to truly _detest_ that smirk...

"Sure, I'll let her go," Stillwell said, his voice slurring. Xander glanced over to Tor and Heidi, and got a microscopic shrug back from Tor.

All of them were too far away from the little Stillwell, Corby, Maitland trio to do anything, anyway. Jack and Kyle very carefully kept their hands from their guns and smirks off their faces after a quick glance at John T. and Dude.

"Good, that's a start now, son," Brett said. "If your friend will do the same – "

Stillwell wasn't too drunk to make a single action Colt appear in his hand. "I'm not your son, old man. I have a father, and you are not him." He wavered on his feet slightly.

"Aw, now," Brett said, softly. "What did you have to go and do this for?" He glanced over to Jack O'Toole. "Can you maybe talk to your friend here?"

Stillwell was too drunk to remember to keep his finger out of the trigger guard. He wavered again.

There was a dull clap of sound that seemed to echo endlessly. Cordelia's fingers bit, _hard_, into Xander's bicep.

He couldn't blame her.

Brett wavered on his feet, slowly, his hands going to his midsection. Oh, crap. Veronique screamed and took a sudden step towards them, only to have Elena grab her arms and hold her in place.

Dude and Chance stepped forward instead, as Brett slowly dropped to his knees, leaving Stillwell with a stupid, stunned look and a steadily worsening situation. Maitland compounded it all by having drawn his gun while everyone was staring stunned at Brett.

"I-i-it was an accident!" Stillwell, said, "You all saw it! He pushed me."

"I know, kid," Chance said, carefully. "Just ease that short gun back into its holster and we'll get this all straightened out. Right Dude?'

"Right, John T." Dude said. He very carefully did not have his Winchester pointed anywhere except at the ceiling, in his left hand. Finger off the trigger...

"Get back!" Stillwell, shouted, waving the pistol in almost hysterics. There was another dull clap of sound.

And Harmony, err, _Melody_ Kendall, gasped, clutched her mid section, high up, and crumpled to the floor. Probably a lot less slowly than it seemed...

Xander had never liked Harmony. Not in this or any other universe. He considered her a vain, bitchy, shallow, brain dead, and slutty tramp whom Cordelia shouldn't ever have let into the Cordettes, much less been best friends with since the third grade. And Harmony always made it abundantly clear she hated his guts equally, if not more. _And_ this universe's version wasn't shy about letting him know it held here, too, or that she had as much contempt for Cordelia's relationship with him here as she did back home.

But none of that meant he'd _ever_ wanted to see her bleeding out on the floor from a bullet hole way too high up to be of the good...

Cordelia sucked in her breath, and suddenly she was over and down on both knees by Melody, her drilling on the floor beside her. She almost hesitantly reached out to touch the girl's throat for a pulse check.

Right about the same time, Corby's eyes widened and he said, "Oh, crap," very distinctly.

He slid his grip from one hand on Aurora's arm, to a forearm across her throat, and his single action in his other hand jammed up into the soft flesh up under her chin.

And Xander found himself, with zero idea how or when it happened, with his target revolver out and aimed dead between Corby's eyes.

* * *

Brett said, "Oh, my," and fell forward, hitting the floor face down.

Maitland copied Corby's example and grabbed the still frozen Aphrodesia, err, Aphrodite Kingston. Damned, but Xander was going to have to get a program to keep track of who had what name in which universe.

Beside him, Vin had his mare's leg out and not quite aimed at Stillwell. No one really wanted to set off Corby or the still drunk Maitland, and Stillwell had _already_ shot two people by accident, was scared out of his mind, and no one wanted to cause him to go off again...

Peripherally, Xander was aware that Tor had his gun out, and aimed at Maitland's head. Jack glared at him and hissed something like "Tor, what are you doing?" but Xander wasn't really listening – he was paying far too much attention to Cordelia being down there in the line of fire of all these idiots, and the gun under Aurora's chin.

Aura _or_ Aurora, he had always liked, dammit...

But _everyone_ heard Tor say, quietly and very distinctly, "Shut the fuck up, O'Toole."

"All right," Corby said. "Here's what's gonna happen."

"We're listening," Dude said, far too calmly.

"We three are going to move to that door, with these two gals with us, under the gun," Corby said. "Very carefully."

"And?" Dude said.

"And no one does anything stupid, and when we get there," Corby said, "We go out the doorway, and they come back into the room alone. Unharmed, all right?"

"That works for me," Dude said, nodding. "John T.?"

"Have no problem with it," Chance said, those tired, faded blue eyes flinty. "Let's just hope your friend _Maitland_ doesn't have an accident like Stillwell did."

"I'm not as drunk as Joshua, sir," Maitland said. "Won't be one."

"And we know you'll do as you say because... ?" If John T.'s _eyes_ were flinty, Veronique's voice could have been moulded from ice.

"Ma'am," Corby said, "I have no quarrel with these two young ladies. I just want out of here alive. I have no quarrel with Brett, either," he said, and she nodded. "Once this is done, you can go to him and get a doc for him."

"Let them go, John, Dude," Veronique said, again in that frozen, awful voice. "For now."

"All I ask," Corby said. "I'm not stupid enough to think you won't come after."

Dude nodded and stepped carefully back to Veronique's side, motioning to the door. "Git."

Chance moved easily to the side, away from their line of movement, far too lightly for such a big man, but he didn't move back. He nodded. "Head on, then."

Corby nodded, and jerked his head toward the doorway. Maitland began walking Aphrodite towards it, with a suddenly much soberer looking Stillwell following nervously behind. Corby nodded again, and began backing out behind them, a terrified looking Aura looking imploringly at Xander, or Chance, or anyone.

"It'll be ok, Aura," Xander said. He let the muzzle of his target pistol go to the ceiling, not wanting to track it across anyone else while trying to follow Corby with it.

"Good boy," Angel-Corby said, smirking. "You just stay smart, and it will be."

They made it to the doorway, a process that _couldn't_ have taken the hours it seemed to. Corby and Maitland stepped slightly apart so Stillwell could pass between them and out. Then Corby half turned and shoved a screaming Aurora as hard as he could toward Dude, while Maitland threw Aphrodite at Chance.

And Cordelia came up off the floor smoothly to her feet with that drilling coming around, across, and down in her hands –

* * *

And Xander's heart damned near stopped. It did skip once.

_Not_ because he didn't trust Cordelia's aim and sense of timing – he did – but because he could _see_ in his mind's eye that Corby idiot lowering his single action and shooting her somewhere irreplaceable. Or the drunken Stillwell doing so.

John T. and Dude couldn't shoot around Aurora and Aphrodite, and weren't about to shoot _through_ them. Xander was frozen in place, his heart in his throat for Cordelia, and couldn't have moved his pistol if his life depended on it.

People all across that side of the room hit the floor like a line of dominoes, even though those three muzzles never went across them. Xander could distinctly hear the double click of those hammers going back, as if it was all happening in slow motion, in a deathly silence.

There was no shot from Angel -slash- Corby. The left hand barrel went off, and most of the pattern hit the doorjamb somewhere and somewhat to Corby's left. Part of it hit his right arm and shoulder though.

Barrel two went off, the right one, and there was a scream and a thud and a dull boom as Stillwell's gun hit the floor and went off.

Corby's gun went off, then, but Xander never knew where it hit.

And Tor's pistol went off as well, damned near simultaneously. Corby gave a choked gasp, and then Cordelia's _third_ barrel, the rifle barrel, fired, and he hit the floor backwards.

Everything went back to normal speed, then, and Veronique hit the ground on her knees in a flurry of skirts next to Brett, screaming his name.

Xander turned and looked at Cordelia incredulously, his gun still aimed at the ceiling and his mouth hanging open.

"Damn." Cordelia said, her eyes flat, cold, and hard. "That shot barrel throws a bit low and left. I didn't know to compensate." She sighed, and said, "I _meant_ to take his head off with that first round."


	13. It Usually Keeps Hitting the Blades

**Chapter Twelve: It Usually _Keeps_ Hitting the Rotating Blades For Awhile...**

* * *

"_If you're trying to take a roomful of people by surprise, it's a lot easier to hit your targets if you don't yell going through the door.__"_ ― Miles Vorkosigan (from The Vor Game)

* * *

Dude turned to someone next to him, grabbed him and said, "Go get Doc Jaansen, fast."

"I'll go," Vin said. He didn't wait for a response, just headed for the doorway, his mare's leg in his hand, and Darlene bustling after him. Dude nodded, and went over to kneel beside Veronique next to Brett.

Chance went to the doorway, and knelt by the down and bleeding out Corby. "Well, I'd say you did that thing with your last shot, Young Miss."

Xander felt the corner of his mouth curl up into a half smile, despite himself and despite the situation. He gave Cordelia an exasperated look.

"You hitting the door frame wasn't _exactly_ what I meant, Cordy."

She gave him a half smile back. "You should use words and verbs, next time, then." He nodded.

Xander went over to kneel beside Harmony, or Melody, or whatever. Supposed it didn't matter at this point. He sighed. "Damn."

"No point in a doctor," Cordelia said, going to one knee beside him. "Not for Harm."

"I froze," Xander said. "I had a clean shot, but... I saw you stand up, and... froze."

"Ah. That's ok. It's what partners are for, right?"

"Right," he said, nodding. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips, gently. "Don't scare me like that again."

"I'll try not to," Cordelia said. She kissed him back, and then looked over to the white faced Veronique and Dude. Elena had joined them by Brett, and Chance stood watching from the doorway, looking grim. "Brett?"

"Bad," Dude said. "If the Doc gets here fast, and he's good, he could make it. _Will_ make it. Brett's a tough man."

Cordelia winced, and her eyes squeezed shut, briefly.

"We weren't a part of this, Dude," Kyle said. "You _saw_ that, right?"

Dude looked up at him, sourly. "I saw. You didn't do anything. Good for you."

Xander stood up, and began checking his pistol. He holstered it, checked the other one, and went over and got Cordelia's Winchester. He glanced over at Tor.

"You in or out?"

"In." Heidi nodded as well, from next to Tor.

"Hauer?" Jack glared at him. "What are you doing?"

"Said, shut the fuck up, Jack," Tor said, reloading his empty chamber. "Doing what you should. Taking care of ours. Or doesn't Melody Kendall count, either?""

"Don't _tell_ me to shut up, Hauer," Jack said, dangerously.

"Ok, then. How about, be quiet?" Heidi said, her voice soft and bored sounding.

Vince came back with an older gentleman in a suit with no coat on, and a bag, his sleeves already rolled up. Who kinda reminded Xander a bit of the Marshall from the Rifleman, but he wasn't paying much attention to that now.

The doctor glanced at Melody, got a shake of the head from Cordelia and grimaced. He headed over to Brett and started to examine him. "Give me some room, please."

Vince looked over to Xander and Tor checking their weapons, and headed to them, giving his new '76 a quick once over as he did. Dude got up and went over to Chance, also checking _his_ Winchester.

"This isn't your fight," he said, mildly, looking at Xander and Vince. "Or your job."

"Wasn't aware that fights had brands on 'em," Vince said.

"It is ours," Tor said.

"Yeah. We shoulda killed that ass Corby when we first saw what he was," Heidi said.

"I grew up with Kendall," Xander said. "Never liked her. But she shouldn't have died bleeding out on the floor here."

Cordelia looked up at him. "Xander?" she said. He looked over, an eyebrow raised. "Be careful. Come back to me." He nodded.

Darlene looked over at Vince, and said, "You too."

Kevin looked over at the two lawmen. "Well? We wasting night light, or what?"

"Tor," Kyle said, finally putting his foot in it. "You and Heidi go out that door with them, don't come back."

"I do as I please, Kyle. You do as you please," Tor said, his voice casual.

"Yup. You just always _thought_ you were the boss of us. You weren't," Heidi finished, nodding.

Dude looked at all of them checking guns and looking grim and shook his head. "Hell," he said to Kevin, "Why don't you just go out and round up a posse while we're at it?"

"Marshall," Glenn said, "You're a good man. And you're the law here, not us. But Brett is our friend too. And that was a right pretty girl who shouldn't be dead."

"It's my _job_, Scott. Not yours," Dude said. "And not _theirs_," he gestured at Xander, Vince, and the assorted others. "Chance and I are getting paid to risk our necks here."

"I'm getting paid?" John T. said.

"You stay the hell out of this, John T.," Dude glared at him. "You know what I mean."

"Dude," Xander said. "They're our necks."

"No one is trying to do your job," Vince said. "We just want to make sure you stay alive to do it." Dude glared at him, also.

"Dude," Elena said, gently. "They're your friends and they want to help. It's all right to _let_ them help."

"I know, Elena," Dude said, looking anguished. "I _know_ that, all right? I just don't want to see any _more_ of my friends lying on a floor in a pool of blood." He gestured at Tor and Heidi, and added, "Or any _not_ friends, either."

"Stillwell and Maitland have a lot of guys here in town, I think," Heidi said.

"So do the Mayor and Sheriff Bob," Tor said.

"Even more reason," Dude said, glaring at them. Tor and Heidi shrugged, and he glared at Cordelia. Probably just for good measure. "At least _you're_ not coming."

Cordelia smiled at him. "I already scared hell out of Xander once tonight," she said. "I don't want to go for twice and maybe get him killed."

Dude made a disgusted noise, and jerked his head at the door. "Well, hell. Let's go then."

John T. pointed at Kyle, Jack, and Rhonda. "You three. Stay put. We see you out there, and you're one of them."

"They're not going anywhere," Cordelia said. She broke open her drilling, shook out the empties and began to slide new shells and cartridges in.

"You think for one minute you can stop us – " Kyle began... Cordelia snapped the drilling shut and smiled at him.

"Kyle, don't be an idiot," Jack said, sounding tired. "You _saw_ her put a slug through Stillwell and a bullet through Corby's face. You just go ahead and walk past her if you want."

* * *

"All that blood, Stillwell isn't going far," Chance said.

"Yeah," Dude said. "He doesn't get some kind of attention, he'll bleed out before he gets a quarter mile outside of town. Where do you think?"

"Huh." Heidi said, frowning.

"Double Eagle," Tor said. "Rosaria's at the end of town. Mayor's office. Sheriff's office. Pick one."

Heidi nodded. "Maitland and Stillwell, the elders, aren't in town tonight. Good."

"Blood more or less stops outside the door here," Vince said. "Must've grabbed something to tie it off with."

"Gonna lose that arm if that slug hit the bone," Chance said. He didn't sound all that sympathetic. Just a statement, nothing more.

Dude nodded. "Your young lady is a cool shot," Dude said. "Pretty cold blooded, too."

"I like her," Xander said, simply.

They headed off, looking down the street for any sign of the retreating pair. After a ways, they paused looking around.

"Well, Double Eagle, there a ways," Chance said. "Mayor's Office is down from the hotel and across the square. Sheriff's is back across, other side of the square."

Loud music and raucous laughter came from the Double Eagle a bit down the road. No one was on the veranda. There was some movement in the shadows of the boardwalk up the street a bit. A number of guns went that way.

"Don't shoot me," a soft voice said. A girl stepped out into the light, her hands held out empty. "Mr. Dude? Mr. Chance?"

"Ianara?" Dude said. "You could get your fool head blown off. Get back inside."

"I know. I will," she said. "Mister Rutherford said to tell you that he saw two men coming up the street, and one was holding his arm with one hand, hanging at his side."

Rutherford was the old black doorman at the Sunnydale Arms, Xander recalled...

"He see where they went?" Chance asked her.

Ianara nodded, pointing across the street. "Between those buildings and toward the Eagle, sir."

"All right." Dude nodded. "Now, get back inside somewhere. And stay away from windows."

"Of course," she said. She looked over at them, and said, "Mister Dude? The Sheriff and two of his deputies are in there." Ianara slipped back into the buildings shadows, and then down the passage between buildings to head back to the hotel from away from the street.

"Well, Mister Dude," John T. said, "That puts a fine point on _that_."

"It surely does, Mister Chance," Dude said. "Always knew I was going to get crossways of Bob Munroe sooner or later."

Tor and Heidi looked at each other. "We'll go and take a look see."

"Hey – "

"It's all right. We can be just awful quiet when we want to be," Heidi said.

Dude shook his head as they crossed the street and flattened out against the storefronts. Vince pursed his lips, and handed his '76 to Glenn.

"I'll go along," Vince said. "I can be just awful quiet, too."

"Don't tell me, let me guess," Xander said, "You get by at sneaking, too."

Vince smiled. "I do at that." He unholstered his mare's leg and moved off after Tor and Heidi.

Glenn shook his head, smiling. He looked at Dude. "How you want to play this, Marshall?"

"We find out where they are," Dude said. "We go in, get Stillwell and the Maitland kids, and bring them out."

"Just like that," Kevin said.

"Just exactly like that."

Xander nodded. He'd felt a sort of eerie, detached calm come over him ever since Corby went down and he'd realized Cordelia wasn't going to die tonight, and his heart started again. Like he wasn't really attached to the whole thing any longer, just his body going through and doing things. The right things, he hoped...

He glanced over at the Marshall and Chance.

"Sunday go to meeting rifle?" Xander looked down, Dude's Winchester carbine finally registering on him.

"Hah. Your young lady is right: you really shouldn't go into comedy," Dude said, sourly.

"Some people drink to loosen their wrists and stiffen their nerve," Xander said, shrugging. "Me? I joke." He felt a half smile slide across his lips. "Never claimed they were _good_ jokes."

Dude nodded, the corners of his lips twitching. Finally, he smiled back. "Point taken," he said. He shrugged. "Said I had one made up for me like John T.'s. Didn't realize he'd up gunned to that .32-40."

Xander nodded. Talking guns beat thinking about what was coming up. It was a nice Winchester '94, an eighteen inch carbine with a large loop lever. It had gold inlay in some of the engraving, with the words 'Winchester-Colt .44-40' inlaid on the barrel, and a gold coin or medallion inset into either side of the stock. And a folding leaf rear sight...

"Nice," he said. "Winchester Thirtieth Anniversary model?"

"Gets the job done," Dude said. "Holds ten rounds, if you need that many. The twenty inch holds eleven."

After a bit, Tor and Heidi came back just as silently and unobtrusively as they'd left, Vince paralleling them in the shadows on the opposite side of the street.

"I make it about six or so each of Maitland and Stillwell's guys, plus two," Tor said. "No serious players except for Deke and Slade."

Heidi nodded. "Josh and Blake are in the commons, and someone's working on saving Maitland's arm."

"Sheriff Bob?" Xander said.

"Yup. With two deputies, neither of them Stein," Tor said. "No one out front, for now. But you can see that."

"And one guy at the back, with a rifle," Vince said. "Was a guy on the roof."

"Was?"

"He's not there any more," Vince said, shrugging. "So to speak."

"Anyone see you?" Chance asked.

"Them maybe," Vince said. "Not me."

Heidi snorted. "Not hardly."

Dude looked at Xander, his eyebrows raised, and his expression saying, 'you know them, right?'. Xander shrugged.

"Back when we were kids, before Kyle and Rhonda decided being bullies and thugs was more fun," Xander said. "Tor used to ghost up and catch cottontails. Bare handed." He looked Dude in the eye, "They say no one saw them, they didn't."

"And you trust them, right?" Dude asked.

"Naw. But I trust them not to screw me over," Xander said.

"All right," Dude said, nodding. "Ok, you two – "

"Marshall," Heidi said, cutting him off. "We don't have badges and we don't work for you."

"But we might take suggestions from Xan," Tor said.

"That right?" Dude glared at them, then at Xander. "Well, _suggest_ something, _Xan_," he said.

Xander passed on the glare, with interest, to Tor and Heidi. Who looked unperturbed, naturally. Finally... "You say there's a back way in?"

"With one rifle at it," Vince said. "Figure that means it's either unlocked, or he has a key."

"Slade and Wilson are to the back, also," Heidi said, nodding.

"Munroe's by the bar," Tor added.

"Good place for him."

"How close could you get?" Xander asked, looking to Vince.

"Oh," Vince pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. "Five yards, maybe, before you have to step into the light."

"Not a problem," Tor said. Heidi nodded.

"All right," Xander sighed. "We'll take the back, keep Slade and Matthews off your back. One way or another."

"And we'll go in and bring Blake and Josh out. Alive," Dude said. "I want them to stand trial. Not fill up a box."

"However it works," Chance said.

"Damn." Dude kicked at the ground, viciously. "Just a stupid, _idiotic_, drunken fucking _accident_. And a man down and a girl dead. Two kids ruined."

"Isn't that usually the way it happens, nine times out of ten?" Glenn said.

"I saw it coming," Xander confessed, everyone turning their heads to look at him. "I had a chance to stop it all. Three shots, all it would have taken. I just... "

"You're not a cold blooded killer, Xan," Heidi said. "Not like Jack. Or me and Tor."

"Suggest you keep it that way," Tor said.

"I wasn't ever like that, was I?" Dude said, looking at Chance. "When I was drinking, I mean."

"Hell, Dude," John T. said, "When you were drunk, you could barely _hold_ a gun, much less shoot one by accident."

* * *

"Huh." Xander looked down the alley to the back door of the Double Eagle. Yup. One guy with a rifle, all right. Five to six yards of open space to cross to get to him, quietly.

He wished he had a crossbow. Maybe Giles had one...

And for damned sure there wasn't time to visit him and go borrow it.

"Got it," Tor said. He raised his leg and pulled a short, spear point bladed bowie from his boot, tipped his cut down Colt Lightning over his left shoulder, and vanished into the shadows along the side of the alleyway.

"Damn." Xander blinked.

"He's gotten better, while you were gone," Heidi said, very quietly.

"So I see."

Tor melted out of the shadows into the light at the edge of the lit space around the back door, the gas light giving things an eerie flickering look.

"Rolf," he said.

"Hauer?" The man appeared to squint, tensing up, and then relaxed, slightly. Then he tightened up again... "They said you switched over," he said, suspiciously.

"Changed my mind." Tor stepped casually and easily toward him, slowly, the knife hidden behind his forearm. "Jack sent me to talk."

"Huh." The guy's eyes narrowed a bit more. "Where's your blonde attack bitch?"

"Chase shot her," Tor said. Four yards, three...

"Ah? Hey – think that's about close enough. Let me – " the guy stiffened, starting to bring his rifle over, belatedly, to cover Tor.

Tor _moved_. A long step forward with the right foot, off the left, right arm coming up, back, and forward and down, no wrist snap, and the forearm and wrist perfectly straight. Knife sliding smoothly off the fingers to do a spin and a half through the air –

– The short, wide Bowie thudded into the center of the hollow of Rolf's throat, probably neatly severing the spine. Rolf went over backward, kicking, and a foul scent filled the alley as he voided out. Fouler scent.

The alley already stank. This didn't make it better.

"Damn." Xander blinked again. "Don't think I've ever seen anyone actually _do_ that when it was for real and for keeps." He'd _almost_ said when it wasn't on TV or in a movie, and then remembered where he was and rephrased.

"Knew one guy who could, and outdraw a hand gunner while he was at it," Vince said. "Heard there was another, but I've never seen him."

"Told you he's gotten better," Heidi said.

"So you did."

Tor was withdrawing the knife when they stepped up, and cleaning it on the guy's pants leg. He put it away, standing up and turning to face them. "Next?"

Xander shook his head. Man was downright _scary_.

"All right," he said, thinking. He handed his rifle to Tor. "Watch the back here and keep it clear. We come out, we'll be doing it fast, and probably with a lot of bullets flying around us."

"Hopefully not in us," Vince said.

"And me?" Heidi said.

Xander looked at Vince, who shrugged. "I'm thinking it'll probably be pistol work in there," he said.

Vince pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. Nodded. He handed his rifle to Heidi.

"You watch our backs," Xander said, "Make sure they don't sprout bullet holes."

"I can do that."

* * *

Two guys were just coming out through the batwings as they had come up onto the veranda and were about to reach to push them open, leaving the folding glassed in double doors wide open behind them.

They both stopped, frozen, with their hands full of rifles they had no way to use without dying.

Dude stuck the muzzle of his carbine in the belly of the one in front of him, and growled, "Back inside."

When the man stayed frozen, Dude's lip curled and he pulled the rifle back and slammed the barrel forward, up into the guy's diaphragm, and raised his leg and kicked him backward and through the doors to land sprawling on the floor inside, gasping for breath. "I _said_, back _inside_."

He stepped in and to one side, rifle steady on the room.

"You heard the man. Get out of the way," Chance pivoted slightly, and raised the Winchester and smashed the butt-plate into the man's face, sending him staggering back through the doors to fall sprawling backwards, holding his face and bleeding. Chance stepped in and to his right, clearing the doors for the other two.

Kevin caught the man's carbine before it could hit the veranda floor, and worked the lever as he stepped inside, making sure there was a round chambered.

"Got me a new rifle," he said.

"Serious business going on, and you're taking time to shop," Glenn said, giving him a disgusted look. He covered the room ahead of them with his '73 at his hip.

"All right," Dude said. He pointed with the muzzle of the Winchester to Josh Stillwell and Blake Maitland. "You two. You're coming with us."

"Anyone who objects," Kevin said, "Well, best not."

"Hey! You can't just come in here and – " Bob Munroe started out...

John T. turned towards him, raising his '94 to the shoulder and looking at him over the sights. "Mister Oliver and Mister John Moses think we can. You gonna argue?"

Both deputy sheriff's froze, hands hovering above their guns, but no farther.

"No one ever listens," Kevin said.

"It's your delivery," Glenn suggested.

The bartender moved slightly, his hands below the bar top. Without glancing over, Dude said, "Mose? You just bring up that scattergun if you're feeling frisky. Go ahead."

Back in the back of the saloon's main room, Deke Matthews and Wilson Slade both had their hands on top of the table they were sitting at. Neither made a move to move them anywhere else.

"Marshall?" Matthews said, and Dude jerked his eyes that way, off of the two kids, briefly. "I don't think you want to do this."

"You going to stop me, Deke?" Dude's voice sounded amused.

"Maybe not now, but... Sooner or later," Matthews said.

"Been a real bad night, Deke. You don't wanna ride there." Dude looked back at the two kids. "All right, you two heard me. Let's go."

"We're not going anywhere with you, Marshall," Josh Stillwell said. He had his upper arm tied off, and a bloody bandage around his bicep, and was looking sheet white pale.

"One way or another, kid," Chance said. "On your feet, or dragged across the floor. You pick." Next to Stillwell, Maitland gulped nervously, gripping his six-gun like it was a live rattlesnake he didn't want to hold, but couldn't drop.

"Blake, Josh," Dude said, his voice oddly gentle. "Don't make this any worse. Come on, and we'll get Doc Janssen to look at that arm and fix you up."

"Beats bleeding out," Glenn said, his voice equally gentle.

"Josh?" Maitland cast a nervous, skittery glance at his companion.

"Don't do it, kid," Sheriff Munroe said. "Let your dad handle this, and Mayor Wilkins."

"Wilkins isn't here. Neither are their daddies, nor Stillwell," Chance said. "And you, I'd shut up and I were you."

"I'm trying real hard not to have to kill either of you," Dude said. "You're not making it any easier."

* * *

No one was inside the door, nor down the small passage way leading to the door into the main room of the saloon, past the bar girl's dressing rooms and storage and other stuff. Xander was surprised.

Maybe they cleared all the girls out and sent them off to clear the decks for action.

_'Maybe they're all hiding upstairs,'_ Still Small said.

Maybe so. Xander put his ear to the door leading to the common room, and tried the door handle, gently. It gave a very soft click and opened. He pushed on it just enough to slide through.

Not as silently as Tor or Vin, maybe, but he got by, too.

Deke Matthews and Wilson Slade were sitting at a small table facing out into the main room, a bottle of whiskey and some glasses on the table top, along with their hands. There were two guys wearing range gear leaning against a wall, off to one side. They stiffened as they saw the trio slide into the room.

Heidi aimed Vince's big rifle at them, and held a finger to her lips. They froze, and then moved their hands carefully away from their gunbelts.

_'What was it that one called her? Tor's blonde attack bitch?'_ Still Small said. _'Apparently, her reputation gets around.'_

And that hole in the end probably looks like a Sunnydale sewer mouth, Xander thought. Xander and Vince ghosted up to the table behind Slade and Matthews, Xander's five-and-a-half inch Grover in his hand, Vince holding his mare's leg.

Out front, Dude was telling the two idiot kids, "I'm trying real hard not to have to kill either of you, and you're not making it any easier."

Chance was covering Sheriff Bob and his deputies. Dude switched his rifle to his left hand, and drew his handgun with his right.

The Maitland kid hefted his pistol in his hand, and Dude raised the rifle, suddenly looking and sounding old and tired. "I wouldn't."

"I'm not." Maitland lowered the hammer on the single action, and tossed it out onto the floor. "I'm giving myself up. C'mon, Josh."

"Blake! No... "

"Give. It. Up." Maitland said, "It only gets worse from here."

And just ahead of him, Xander saw Wilson Slade casually and easily slide his gun hand from the table and down to beside his leg. He stepped forward and stuck his pistol muzzle to the back of the man's head. Beside him, he saw Vin do the same, nudging Deke's ear with his mare's leg muzzle.

"Wouldn't," Xander warned. "As the man said, it only gets worse from here." Vince drew back the hammer on the mare's leg with a click, and Matthews stiffened.

"Easy there, friend," Vince said. He leaned forward and down and drew Deke's pistol from his holster, and stuck it through his belt as he straightened up.

Matthews rolled his eyes back and to the side, and said, "You're not my friend, friend."

Vince nodded, and said, softly, "Don't blame you." (beat) "You had a gun in _my_ ear, I wouldn't be _your_ friend, either."

"Harris?" Slade said. "This is a really bad idea for you."

"Heh. You were going to let Bill Corby haul my girl off for some private time," Xander said. He cocked the Grover. "I'm thinking your judgment calls aren't something I want to base my life around."

Wilson sighed, and said quietly from the corner of his mouth, "You're _both_ going to regret mixing into this."

Xander nodded, taking Wilson's pistol from his holster and stepping back. "Life is full of regrets." A fey note came into his voice as he added... "Don't add any to yours."

"Walk out that door with my pistol, and I'm going to kill you for it," Matthews said to Vince.

Vince shrugged. "Everybody's gotta do what everybody's gotta do." He smiled slowly. "And right now, what _you_ gotta do is sit there real still like and not get shot."

Xander glanced over to Vince and nodded, and they both stepped carefully back to beside Heidi, and then past her. "All right," Xander said, and she nodded.

"Right behind you," Heidi said. Then she cocked her head, looking suddenly intent.

A floor board creaked softly up above them and there was the double snickt-click of a pair of hammers being cocked.

"Crap," Xander said – just before it all broke loose.

Heidi shot both gunmen off the wall so fast and so smooth the two reports sounded like one. She spun, bringing Vince's rifle to her shoulder, aimed upwards, and fired once, twice, three times, and again. Into and through the floor, angling upwards...

There was a choked scream, followed by the sound of something clattering on the rail of the balcony above, and then there was a shotgun falling through the air...

And a body, shortly behind it.


	14. And Eventually, It Covers Everything

**Chapter Thirteen: And Eventually, It Covers Everything...**

* * *

"_Any community's arm of force – military, police, security – needs people in it who can do necessary evil, and yet not be made evil by it. To do only the necessary and no more. To constantly question the assumptions, to stop the slide into atrocity.__"_ ― Lois McMaster Bujold (from "Barrayar")

* * *

Of _course_. Something can take forever to get right, but it can just all go to _shit_ in a heartbeat and a hand-basket.

And when it all breaks sideways, it never does it slowly.

There were rifle shots from the back, two, and then five or six of them, a .50-95, firing so fast it sounded like one long staccato rolling report.

Josh Stillwell's eyes widened, and his hand flashed down towards his holster. Dude saw it, and said, "Aw, no."

Dude shot Stillwell between the eyes with a .44-40 flat point from the Winchester, and twirl cocked it left handed while he was bringing the handgun over to aim at the bartender, who was suddenly reaching below the bar top in a screaming hurry.

The single action bucked in his hand, and Mose fell backward, his arms flailing and a clatter coming from the floor behind the bar top.

There was a shot from Chance's .32-40, and a curse from Sheriff Munroe...

The falling shotgun hit the floor, muzzles first, and went off, the body thudding loose to the floorboards on top of it, both tumbling over and sideways.

Xander raised the Hamilton-Grover and shot Munroe's other deputy just as his revolver cleared the holster. John T.'s second shot hit him just after, and he crumpled. Xander stepped forward just as Wilson Slade was starting to rise, and clubbed him, hard and vicious, across the back of the skull.

Wilson slumped forward over the table about the same time that Heidi stuck her rifle muzzle in Deke Matthews' ear.

Kevin had his rifle shouldered and was firing upward into the mezzanine level, working the lever smoothly, Glenn doing the same beside him, only firing spaced and deliberate shots into the room. Killing anything that even looked like it was pointing a gun at anyone of them.

Dude apparently saw movement up there, for he raised both rifle and Colt and fired them alternately, once for the Winchester, and twice for the pistol, thumb cocking it between rounds as it came down from recoil.

And Xander saw movement, one of the guys lying on the floor up front, managing to get a gun from his holster and aiming at John T.'s back –

– Xander shot him through the top of the head as he was rolling over, across Stillwell's twitching body. A long shot for in here. Fifteen yards through a crowd.

He was kind of proud of that shot for one brief moment. Then the guy's gun fell out of his hand and he slumped, red and gray leaking from the top of his skull, and he was just a bit sick.

Vince was firing the mare's leg from beside Xander, working the lever and changing targets coolly as needed. Heidi was doing the same with a pistol in her off hand, the rifle muzzle never wavering from Matthew's ear.

And then there were no more targets, and everything got real still, and real quiet.

There was a girl screaming upstairs somewhere. It sounded remote, and unreal to Xander's gunfire rung ears...

Sheriff Munroe looked out over the room incredulously, his mouth open and his face pale and shocked.

Not _everyone_ other than them was dead. It just had seemed that way at the moment. The handful who weren't, were standing real still and real quiet with their hands up, or held carefully away from anything that even resembled a gun.

Munroe looked down at the two deputies on the floor beside him. One was still. The other was twitching and groaning in a spreading pool of blood, and might still be alive.

For a little while.

Munroe swallowed hard, twice, and then apparently found his voice. It sounded odd to Xander's ears. At least the screaming from upstairs had stopped...

"Dude?" Munroe shook his head. "You're going to _hang_ for this... "

"Well, I'll be in good company," Dude said.

"Heaven for atmosphere, Hell for company," Xander said, his _own_ voice sounding odd to him.

"And _you_ - " Munroe's mouth worked for a moment, staring at Xander until sounds started coming out again. "You have no _idea_ what you just stepped in here, boy."

"Bob," Xander said. Huh. He looked at the long target Grover in his left hand. Where did that come from and how did it get aimed between Sheriff Bob's eyes? "Why don't you tell me?"

Munroe blanched, but he forged on. Xander was tempted to get him a bigger shovel...

"You just shot a _lawman_, boy," Munroe said. "That's a _hanging_ offense."

"City limits," Xander said, his voice sounding far too calm in his own ears. "He's a civilian here, just like me." He cocked his head, looking at Munroe curiously. "Just like you. Why don't I holster these, and we'll both go outside and discuss it?"

Munroe turned pale.

"Ease up, son," Chance suggested. Xander nodded, slowly, thinking about it. He holstered the pistol.

"Think I'll do that thing," Xander said, nodding.

Dude looked at Munroe and shook his head. He snorted contemptuously. "You'll keep." Dude holstered his Colt and went over to Maitland, taking a pair of cuffs out of the back of his belt. He laid his Winchester down on a nearby table.

Blake Maitland was staring down at Stillwell's body, his hand still out where he'd been reaching to try and talk Josh down.

"Hard when it gets real all of a sudden, isn't it, kid," Dude said, very gently. "Turn around." Maitland complied, looking numb. "You're under arrest, for the attempted murder of Brett Halliday, the murder of Melody Kendall, kidnapping, resisting arrest, and fleeing lawful custody. Oh, and for being a dumb ass."

Dude cuffed his hands behind him, and then turned him around and pushed him over to Glenn. "Watch him, please, Scott."

"Not a problem, Marshall."

"I've got the door," Kevin said, half turning to be able to face both doorway and room.

"Marshall," Deke Matthews said, from his seat in front of Xander and Vin. His hands were still flat on the table. Dude's head snapped up and around, to fix on him.

"Yeah? You want something, Deke?"

"Marshall _Borachon_," Matthews said. Xander heard Chance suck in a breath as Dude's face went _real_ still. "Isn't that what they called you back in Rio Bravo?" Heidi pushed the rifle muzzle deeper into Matthews ear...

"No. It was _Deputy_ Borachon, then," Dude said, mildly. He picked up the Winchester from the table, and started walking back towards them. He came to a stop before Deke. "Back off, Barrie," Dude said. He looked down at Matthews, "You got something to say to me, Deke?"

Heidi glared at Matthews for a moment, and then stepped back, lifting the rifle muzzle to point upwards. She looked at Dude and nodded.

"You take that kid out of here, and not only is Stillwell coming after you for killing his baby brother, but Maitland will land on you with everything he's got," Matthews said. "I'd cut my losses right now, if I were you."

"Is that right?" Dude said, mildly. He looked at Matthews like he was a peculiar sort of bug he'd never seen before.

"That's right," Matthews said, and smirked up at him.

Xander always figured it was the smirk that did it...

"Stand up."

Matthews stood, easily, holding his hands out from his body, palms out and facing Dude. And still smirking.

"You know, ever since Brett Halliday got shot, and I looked at Miss Chase kneeling next to that little blonde gal while she was bleeding out, I've been wanting to kill something _real_ bad," Dude said. "All this? This just kinda gets the taste in your mouth."

"Is that a fact," Matthews said.

"That's a fact, Deke." He brought the butt of the Winchester around and up, fast and hard, the stock striking Matthews between the legs. He brought the barrel around and down as Matthews groaned and slumped, striking him across the cheekbone and sending him crashing to the floor.

"It's kind of like taking a drink, you know? The first one just gives you the taste," Dude said. "And the next... the _next_ one just makes you want the one after that."

Dude brought the rifle to his shoulder and it went off, a .44 caliber flat point smashing through Matthews' off hand. Matthews screamed, rolling and grabbing his hand with the other one. Dude worked the lever, and aimed downward. "And after that."

"Dude," Chance said.

"Yeah, John T.?"

"You gonna kill him? Or just tear off the legs on one side and watch him crawl in circles?"

Dude let out a long shuddering breath, and some of the crazy went out of those blue eyes. "Naw." He shifted the aim of the Winchester to between Matthews' eyes.

"You crawl back to Stillwell, Deke, and to Maitland," Dude said. "And you tell them: Josh Stillwell is dead because he was a drunken idiot. Corby is dead because he manhandled the wrong girl. And I'm keeping Blake in my jail until the Federal Marshall can come down and take him to Sacramento for a real trial that's not in front of a jury bought and paid for by the firm of Maitland, Stillwell, and Wilkins. You tell him that... " Dude's eyes narrowed, and he added, "And don't _ever_ try me again, Deke. You're not ready to sit at the high stakes table."

He brought the Winchester up, holding it easily across his body. "Let's take our prisoner and get out of here."

Vince nodded and said, "Suits me."

Xander turned to Heidi, and said, "Get Tor and meet us out front, please." She nodded and headed to the back door.

They gathered up Maitland and the others and headed toward the front doors, pausing a moment as Chance brought the Winchester down from his shoulder and walked lightly over to Munroe. Sheriff Munroe looked like he wanted to shrink further back through the bar.

"You're wrong about one thing, Bob," Chance said, pointing the rifle muzzle at the downed Deputy. "That wasn't a lawman Harris shot. And neither are you." He shook his head, and said, "A _lawman_ wouldn't ever have let things get to this point in this town. A lawman wouldn't be in the pocket of everyone except the people paying his salary."

He brought the rifle barrel down and across Munroe's face, slicing it open with the front sight, and sending Munroe staggering to the side. "Lead, follow, or get the hell out of our way. But mostly, stay out of our way."

* * *

Tor and Heidi met them at the front, just a heartbeat after they exited the Double Eagle, Chance and Vince backing out behind them, covering the room.

Xander accepted Cordelia's rifle back from Tor, and Heidi handed the '76 back to Vince.

"Much obliged," Vince said. He began reloading it through the gate with fat cartridges taken out of his jacket pocket.

"Naw, pleasure was all mine. Sweet gun," she said. "Kicks a mite, though."

"Do me one more thing and then you can split before Jack and the Mayor decide to take all this out of your asses?" Xander said, looking at them curiously.

"Depends. What?"

"Make your way back to the Paradise, and get Cordelia, and ask her to meet me at the Marshall's office?" Xander said, "And make sure she gets there ok?"

"Sure," Tor said.

"That an order, or a suggestion?" Heidi said, smiling.

"Was a _request_, smart ass," Xander said.

"Ah. Gonna figure those are okay too, and say, well, sure," Heidi said.

"Find out about Brett, too, if you would," Dude said.

"No problem, Marshall Dude," Tor said.

They crossed over and started to head off down the street back towards the Paradise, as the prisoner escort party headed back the same way, sticking to the street, but towards the boardwalk. Xander took the '92 in his left hand, fingers through the lever and trigger finger outside of the guard, leaning it back against and over his shoulder, his right hand free for either pistol.

Vin did the same with his '76, on the other side of the little group.

"You know," Chance said, "You could have broken off and gone back to get your girl yourself."

"No I couldn't," Xander said. "I took something on here, and it's not done."

Glenn nodded, but Dude shook his head. "You did your part in there, kid," Dude said, "And then some. You and Vin both."

"He's killed now, if he hadn't before, and he's damned near married," Kevin said. "Don't think he's a kid any more."

"_Is_ married, if'n you ask me," Glenn said. "Just doesn't have the ceremony and ring."

Dude shook his head again, but didn't say anything else. Maitland, for his part looked like he was too deeply in shock to have anything to contribute. Or was just too scared and miserable.

Horse hoof beats sounded off on one of the back streets, and everyone froze, listening. Tor and Heidi paused up ahead, and turned, just as they were about to vanish down an alleyway between buildings, their guns coming up.

The beats kept on, a slow walk-trot-walk for several minutes, and then turned onto the cross street behind them just past the Eagle. All of a sudden, there came a shout, and they kicked up into a gallop, thundering down the crossroad.

Xander drew his target revolver, and Vin his mare's leg.

A dozen or more horses and riders swept around the corner onto the main street and toward them, at a full gallop, riders shouting and yelling and waving coiled lariats.

Glenn grabbed a fistful of shirt and threw the handcuffed Maitland onto the board sidewalk to land in a heap, throwing himself over to land rolling on top of him, his pistol out. Everyone else scattered, some toward the boardwalk, some the other direction. Vince threw himself rolling towards the opposite side of the street.

Someone, someone indistinct on a huge black and white paint horse, charged directly at Xander. He jumped to one side, the horse and rider barely missing him as they went past.

He fired twice, the big revolver bucking in his hand, and the reins neatly parted just ahead of the rider's fist. The paint reacted badly to the sudden twang and release of the reins, and started crow hopping in a tight circle, other riders and horses spreading out around them, and a few reining up to turn back, reaching for guns.

The paint's rider cursed and reached, drawing his single action and trying to draw a bead...

And Xander brought the Winchester up at arm's length like a long pistol, aimed carefully, and shot him out of the saddle.

Clean, neat, and thorough.

Feeling nothing much other than recoil.

The paint managed to sort itself out, and took off back down the street towards the hotel and Mission end of town, dragging its rider bumping along behind, one foot caught in a stirrup.

He brought his hand up, pushing the lever and letting the rifle's weight cock it and then jerking down to close the lever and the breech. He was vaguely aware of a mad swirl of dust and screaming, whinnying horses, cursing men, shots, and shouts. He could hear the steady sound of Vince's heavy fifty off to one side, alternating with the crack of that mare's leg, and Chance's .32-40, higher pitched than the other rifles.

Xander saw someone, indistinct with a bandana and a hat pulled low, pointing a carbine at Dude, and he shot him through the chest without thinking, the bullet spanging off the man's Winchester receiver instead. He one handed the rifle again, and shot him higher this time as he started to come around towards the source of the shot, slumping him over the saddle horn and sending the roan quarterhorse into a frenzy of bucking and kicking.

Another man drew a bead on John T., and Xander raised the long barreled target revolver and shot him neatly through the forehead, and then another who was trying to bring a shotgun down on Vince.

The round from Vince's mare's leg hit him in the chest at the same time, and he folded and rolled out of the saddle. Xander's following shot missed over the folding body and took another in the head, spinning him out of the saddle.

Back, down, and away.

And then it was over and there were bodies in the street, and bucking, terrified horses, and what was left of the riders pelting down the street in the direction of Fort Halleck and the end of town.

Vince dropped his mare's leg and stepped out into the street, aiming the big Winchester carefully. He fired, worked the lever, fired again, and two men rolled from their saddles, and then they were gone.

"Damn," Kevin stood up, shaking his head and brushing dust off of his suit.

Chance knelt to examine one of the nearest bodies, and jerked the bandana off another. "Recognize anyone?"

Glenn stood, hauling a scared white Maitland to his feet. He looked, and spat. "Stillwell's. And the other one is a Bar-G rider. More like, Bar-G gunman."

Tor came to a halt, holding his cut down rifle. He nodded, "A few less than there were in town, after this." He shook his head, "The rest will probably ride for their bosses, now."

Dude looked over at Xander. "Thanks. That one had me cold," he said. Xander nodded, feeling numb. Dude's eyes narrowed slightly, "Neat trick, that rein cutting, but iffy. I know – I did it once."

"I was aiming for center mass," Xander said, shrugging. "Led him a bit too much. And the horse moved."

* * *

They'd gotten Blake Maitland into a cell, or Dude and Chance had. Maitland didn't protest much. At all, really.

In fact, he didn't say anything from the time of the rider's attack to when they hauled him in here, or after. Xander thought he might be in shock.

Hell, Xander thought _he_ might be in shock...

All of them were in Dude's office, a roughly fourteen by sixteen room to the right of the walk leading in through the Marshall's Office's courtyard from the barred, wrought iron gate. At some point, someone had welded plate steel over the bars, and that gate looked solid. Real solid.

Good thing. They'd probably need solid before this was done.

The office had a detail map of Sunnydale on one wall, behind Dude's desk, and a detailed topographical map of Sunnydale County on the wall across from it. There was a rifle rack on the desk wall, nearer the door, full of Winchesters, Springfield carbines, and rolling blocks, and shotguns. The corner of that wall nearest the barred and steel shuttered window, the one with the loopholes, had floor to ceiling bookshelves full of all kind of stuff, including books.

There was a wood stove in the opposite corner, a flat top, not a potbelly, with a really seriously big enameled metal coffee percolator on top bubbling away.

Ok, not all of them. Dude's deputy, the one that looked kind of like an old Walther Matthau that Xander didn't remember ever getting a name for, was in the foyer watching the door with that stocked Buntline across his lap and his chair tilted back.

The other deputy, one that Xander hadn't seen before, who reminded him of an elderly Jimmy Stewart, was in the cell block area with Maitland with one of those big lever action shotguns, like in T2, only not sawed off.

That left Dude, Chance, Vin, Kevin, and Glenn, sitting around in chairs, or leaning against walls and drinking coffee. And Xander, who wasn't doing much of anything at all.

Except for his mind's eye watching that deputy of Sheriff Bob's as Xander's bullet hit him in the chest, and the surprised look he had. And the other one, the rider, falling backwards and down. Endlessly and away...

And Xander. Wondering why he didn't feel anything but numb. He should feel something, right?

Shouldn't he?

Xander felt... mechanical. That was the word for it.

As mechanical as his hands, automatically running rods and brushes and patches and Hoppes through the bores and chambers of his six-guns, and Cordy's rifle, and wiping them down with oil. Loading them and spinning the cylinders at half cock to check the loads, and putting them away.

Yeah. Mechanical was a really good word for it. A machine.

A machine that killed people, with no more thought or emotion than you'd apply to staking a vampire.

He'd _had_ more thought and emotion staking vampires. It was _harder_, too.

Well, vampires were easy too, once the wood went in. It was _getting_ there that was hard. People...

All it took was a sixteenth of an inch of movement, and a few ounces of pressure. Bang.

And a falling body.

Easy as falling.

Xander was good at falling. Just ask Cordy. Hell, ask Buffy – he fell for her literally, right off a skateboard in front of her. Fell for Cordy, too, back when they were five and he looked in those hazel eyes, and she scrunched up her nose at him...

He finished with the Model 92, and looked it over. Neat and squeaky clean. Ready to do the machine thing again and kill. Just like Xander.

He nodded in something resembling a semblance of satisfaction, and began to load it. .44 Specials, not S&W Longs, but... no matter. Same chamber, just two tenths of an inch shorter. Meant... one more round. Two. Fourteen instead of twelve, plus one in the chamber, but he wasn't going to load that.

Just wasn't done.

There was a banging at the back, sounding a long way off, and Dude's deputy called that he'd get it. Xander didn't look. Not important.

Even when he came back and said that Hauer kid and that Barrie girl and Cordelia were back there, he didn't look. Ok, that was important, or Cordelia was, but... hey, she was _here_, right?

Here for her mechanical Xander. A good substitute for a cucumber. Cool as a cucumber, too.

"Well, go let 'em in," Dude said.

"Are they some of ours now?"

"Well, they're not some of _theirs_ any longer," Dude said, sounding exasperated. "Let 'em in, Finney."

"All right! All right, hell Dude," the deputy went off, grumbling.

He heard Vin's voice at the table, "Go fish." Good man, Vin. He was mechanical too. Wind him up and he killed things. Didn't even get wound up about it.

"Hell. Ok, any threes?" Glenn's voice. Another, but not quite mechanical. Just good. Solid.

"Oh, sure. Have some threes. See if I care."

"Hey," Cordelia's voice. Oh, good. He liked Cordy. No, he loved Cordy. That was important, somehow. "I see everyone made it back?"

"Yup," Dude said. "Brett?"

Tor said, "Elena said that Doc got him patched and they took him to his office. Veronique went with."

"Right," Heidi said. "Says... if he makes it through tonight, he's got a good chance." He liked Heidi too, even if she was a machine that killed people, too, like he was. Besides, she was _hot_. But better not say that around Cordy.

"Good," Chance said, "That's a relief." Heh. Good chance, and Chance said good. That was funny.

"Other three?" Vin asked.

Cordelia's voice came again, "Shot them of course." There was a lengthy frozen pause until someone figured out that was Cordelia's deadpan joking voice. Hell, he could have told them that... then a chuckle, followed by chuckles all around. "Cut them loose after the Tor and Heidi act sent someone in to get me and Elena."

He heard John T. say, "Damn, Young Missy. Wouldn't have bet either way that you _didn't_ shoot them out of hand."

"Xander?" He heard Cordy come through the room and cross over to him. Distinctive footsteps. Distinctive girl. He loved that about her.

"Hey, Cordy," Xander said. "Got your rifle all pretty."

"I see that," she said. She set the drilling next to his chair, leaning against the wall. He reached for it automatically.

Mechanically.

"No, that's ok, Xander," Cordelia said. "Leave it for now."

"Got to clean it. It'll rust," Xander said.

"It's all right," she caught his hand, brought it to her lips and kissed it. "I'll ask Glenn to do it." She took the Winchester from across his lap, and set it against the wall next to the drilling.

"Honey? Look at me," Cordelia said.

He did. Oh, wow. Cordy eyes. Gorgeous. You could fall into those. Backwards. Endlessly and away...

"Oh, Xander... " Cordelia said, softly. Wow. He didn't hear her soft very often. She was usually sharp. And bitchy. Which was ok – he liked her bitchy. She was beautiful bitchy. And soft too, of course. "How was it?"

"It got bad, Cordy. Real bad," he said. Mechanically, like he was doing everything now. Including killing.

He wondered if he'd fuck mechanically too.

"I see that," she said. "Your eyes... "

"My eyes?" That was interesting. His eyes didn't feel any different...

"Bleak. Empty. Like that night that Kendra got killed in front of you, and they dumped a bookcase on Willow and concussed her," Cordelia said. "Only... worse."

"I didn't kill Kendra, Cordy. Didn't save her, either. Didn't save Harmony... "

"Oh, crap... " Cordelia said, very quietly; suddenly looking frightened for some reason. "Vin!"

He heard Vince's chair fall back, hitting the ground behind him. He didn't look. Wasn't important. Cordelia's _eyes_ were important – he couldn't take his _off_ of them, or something bad would happen.

Just didn't know what.

"What?" Vince's voice, Vince kneeling down next to Cordelia.

"How long has he been like this?'

"He... since we got back?" Vin said. His voice sounded puzzled. "He seemed ok," Vin said. "Quiet, cleaned his weapons, looked thoughtful. Left him alone."

"Well you _shouldn't_ have!" Ooh. Bitchy Cordy. She was always prettier like that. Hot when her eyes flash. "Vin, his hands are _freezing_."

"Shock." Hah! He was right, earlier. Xander was in shock too. Damn, he was good. Vin said, back over a shoulder, "Chance. Coffee, whiskey, blanket."

"It's ok, Cordy. I'm mechanical now. Everything's all right."

"Ohhh, Xander... " Cordelia took one of his hands between hers and leaned her shoulder against his knees, looking up at him. He stroked her hair. Mechanically, because that was what you were supposed to do.

"Here," John T.'s voice. Gruff, concerned. "Drink this," he said, putting something into Xander's hand and making sure it was wrapped around it. Ooh. Nice. Warm. He drank. Mechanically, of course.

Damn. Coffee, thick, black, and strong. Whiskey in it, and honey. _Good_ whiskey. Of course, Dude _would_ have good whiskey. Ex-drunk. His dad had good whiskey. Ex-drunk, too, his dad.

"Battle shock. Saw it in the war." Chance again, still sounding concerned. "He ever get like this before?"

"Once. How many?"

"Huh?"

"Did he _kill_? How _many_?" Cordelia asked, impatiently. Six, Cordy. Mechanically. Bang. Dead bang. Dead easy.

"Four, five for certain." Chance said. "Maybe more – it got a bit confused there for a few minutes."

"Six. Maybe more. And he damned near killed Sheriff Bob," Vin said, "Cold, before Chance called him down."

"Crap. Australia, once, when he fired that long rifle and the other Winchester so much and so fast that the barrels were too hot to touch," Cordelia said. "And you couldn't load them for a round cooking off – I had to pour water down the barrels." She paused, and said, "During the Stockman war..."

Damn. She was good at that. Liar, liar, pants on fire. But don't set Cordy's pants on fire – better things to do with Cordy's pants. Or Cordy with them. With 'em off, anyway. But it never happened, Cordy. Not Australia. We were never _in_ Oz. _Oz_ is here, working in the stables.

For some reason, he found that hysterically funny, but it wouldn't come out. Oh, _gods__ – _Cordy's been reading the _script_. That was the script, not reality. He hoped like hell that his Cordy wasn't starting to believe the Scriptwriter.

Or was it? Sunnydale here, Sunnydale home, and Oz all blurred together for a moment. He drank some more coffee and whiskey. Good. Someone put a blanket around his shoulders. Better.

"And one other time... " Cordelia said, her voice trailing off uncertainly at the end. "Before."

Xander didn't have to have read the script to get that one. Before. Before all of this... before Westworld.

The night _after_ the night that they killed Kendra right in front of him, almost killed Cordelia, and dropped a bookcase on top of Willow and sent her into a coma. The night _after_ the night that Giles was kidnapped and tortured. The night _after_ the night that Buffy sent Angel to Hell and closed Acathla.

The night they realized that Buffy had abandoned them.

The night that it all came crashing in on him, _after_ it was all done with, thank God, and it all finally became too much. The night that Cordelia had to hold him while he shook and raged and cursed at the gods and the uncaring universe.

The night that he woke up and decided that the lack of a Slayer didn't mean that they no longer had vampires and monsters to deal with, and that someone had to step up to the plate. The night that he started to grow up...

"Funny."

Cordelia looked at him, searching his eyes. Fair enough. He'd been searching hers all along. Somewhere in there, was something he needed. Desperately.

"Funny?"

"Funny. Scriptwriter. Mechanical man. Cool as a cucumber man. Good substitute for a cucumber. Dead easy. I killed them Cordy," he said.

"Oh, gods, Xander. I know," Cordelia reached a hand up to trail along his cheek. Her fingertips came away wet. "Did they need killing?"

"Hell yeah," Xander said. "They were trying to kill us back."

"Then you did good," Cordelia said. "It's ok."

Nod. "Yeah, see? It's funny even. All mechanical now. I can do that," Xander said, searching her wide hazel eyes, desperately. Trying to _make_ her understand. "Bad ass, like you said. Don't feel nothing."

"I know," Cordelia said. Her voice broke.

"Why are my _cheeks_ wet when it's _funny_? Why don't I _feel_ anything, Cordy?" His voice broke too, sounding strange in his own ears. Hoarse, raspy. "Supposed to feel something... aren't I?"

"You will," she said. She leaned in, slid into his lap, and her arms went around him, pulling him to her fiercely. "I'll _make_ you feel. You can't _not_ react to me, dammit. Never have been able to not. Never _will_."

Whatever he was searching for in those eyes, he found it in those arms. Something indescribable, and infinitely precious.

"I couldn't _save_ her, Cordy. Dude couldn't save Stillwell. I couldn't save Harmony, Kendra, Ampata, Jesse, Brett... I couldn't save _any_ of them. All I could do was kill them."

Something broke inside, and it all came pouring out.


	15. Don't Throw Words at Men With Guns -

**Chapter Fourteen: Don't Throw Words at Men With Guns...**

* * *

"_Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

It was hours. It was minutes. He had no real idea of how long it was, and didn't care. It was embarrassing.

Except that it wasn't.

Because the only person in the room that mattered was Cordy. Only person in the whole. Damn. _W__orld_. That _mattered_, was Cordy. Whole damn universe.

If she didn't mind seeing him break apart in front of her, then anyone else could go fuck themselves. And if she _did_... then no one _else's_ opinion _mattered_.

Not even his own.

She didn't.

She watched him break. Held him, and let him break. And took him apart and put him back together and rebuilt him better than he was, better than himself.

Better than he alone could ever be. Than _they_ alone could ever, would ever be.

How did that line go? Stronger, faster, better than he was? Cordelia had the technology. And so did he.

He came out of it with Cordelia's arms around him and her breath hot in the crook of his neck, and he felt... Hell. He _felt_. That was damned well good enough.

Xander drew a long shuddering breath in, held it, and let it out. He pulled back, put his hands on Cordelia's shoulders and gently eased her back. Kissed her, and looked into those eyes when they opened again and she leaned back and looked at him again.

"Better?"

"Yup."

"Good. Dumbass. Don't _scare_ me like that again, dammit!" Cordelia thumped him on the chest with a small fist, lightly.

"Try not to," Xander said, and leaned forward and kissed her again until she melted and reformed on his lips. When her eyes opened again, a bit glazed, he said, "You need to break apart, let me know. I'll put you back together too."

"You already did. Idiot," Cordelia said. "Remember?"

"Vaguely. How are _you_?"

"I'm... ok, I think," she said. "I don't regret killing that Corby or Angel character a bit, if that's what you're asking. Not yet."

Xander nodded. "How did you know?"

"Hmm?"

"That..." Xander made a vague gesture. "That I was..." he gave up and just shrugged. He couldn't describe what he'd been for a little while there.

"Oh. Schmuck. Easy," Cordelia said, smiling at him. "When _I_ walk into a room and you _don't_ look over and give me that lopsided grin or a smirk, even? When you're sitting in a group of people you like and you just _sit_ there? No jokes or chatter or nothing?" Cordelia shook her head. "Xander... you've _never_ been indifferent to me. Not even when we hated each other."

Xander nodded, and took her by the upper arms, picking her up with him as he stood and setting her down on her feet. She felt light as a feather. So did he.

He wasn't mechanical anymore.

"All right," Xander said. He picked his hat up off the little table where he'd set the gun cleaning kit. "Sorry about that, guys."

"About what?" Dude, Chance, and Vin looked at him like he was insane. Maybe he was. Glenn was cleaning Cordelia's Sauer drilling, with Kevin handing him tools and patches. Both smiled quietly, shaking their heads.

"Nothing," Xander said. He felt his lips curl up into a familiar half smile. "Nothing at all, I guess."

"Well, if you and the Senorita there are all done embarrassing us old geezers with the mushy stuff," Chance said, "We need to figure out what's next."

Cordelia laughed, and Xander felt his lips twitch. "A host of friends," he murmured, and he saw Cordelia's eyes dance at him.

Tor looked at him, his lips twitching a bit at the corners too. He nodded. "I think you'll be all right, now."

Xander nodded. "Ever hit you like that?"

Tor pursed his lips, thoughtfully. "Naw. But I think you may be a better man than I am."

Chance picked up the long wooden case he'd come off the stage with and set it on Dude's desk, opening it. Inside were a pair of dark blued Winchester Model 1892 Carbines, large loop levers and all. And a pair of engraved and inlaid Colts, one with yellowed ivory grips, an eagle scrimshawed into the ivory. The other with an ebony grip with an inlaid Colt emblem.

Tor glanced into the case and whistled. So did Heidi.

Chance looked over at Dude, and said, "Told you I still had them." He picked up one of the carbines from the case and started loading it. "Harrah's still got his, too."

"So you did," Dude said. "Those pistols go with the carbine from El Dorado?"

"Uh huh."

"A grateful populace is a wonderful thing," Dude said. He picked up a case of his own from behind the desk and opened it. Took off his gunbelt and added a second tie down holster to the left hand side, then buckled it back on, tying the tie strings and jerking them tight.

"Wouldn't expect one _here_," Cordelia said, sounding a bit bitter.

"Oh, I don't know, Cordy," Heidi said. "There's a few good people around."

"Wilkins and his cronies didn't have them ground under his thumb, might be a few more," Tor said, watching Dude and Chance with fascination.

"With a little help from you two," Vince said, rolling a cigarette, "Or so I'm given to understand."

Tor shrugged easily. "Wasn't many options for us."

"Until now," Heidi said.

Dude took another engraved and inlaid Winchester out of the case, a '94 with a twenty inch barrel and a regular lever, rather than the eighteen inch big looped '92. Otherwise identical. He started loading it with .44-40 rounds from the open box on his desktop.

"Getting set for a war?" Cordelia asked.

"A siege, more like," Chance said.

Vince took Deke Matthews' prize pistol from his belt and started checking it over. Cordelia's eyes widened a bit when it registered on her, and registered what it was.

"Wow. What's his name is gonna be _pissed_ when he sees you with that, Vin," she said.

"Can't tell you how much that saddens me," Vince said, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"He already was, Cordy," Xander said.

"Oh?" Her eyes widened a bit further. "Oh!"

Vince glanced over to Xander. "Might need to borrow some .44 Specials from you, 'til I can get me some."

"Sure. Box in the right hand pocket of my duster, help yourself," Xander said. He blinked. "Oh. Which is hanging in the coat room at the Paradise, duh."

"No it's not," Cordelia said. "I brought it with."

"Obliged." Vince went over to where Cordelia had hung his coat, and dug into the specified pocket, coming up with a box of cartridges.

"Well," Dude said. He set the loaded rifle down and picked up the Colt, started thumbing in rounds. "You and Barrie might regret signing on to your better options here at this point in the war."

"Not as much as those guys at the Double Eagle do, for not," Heidi said.

"'Sides," Tor said. "We backed Xander and Cordy. Didn't say _you_ were our better option."

"Hah! So you didn't," Dude said, nodding. He slid the long barreled Colt into the left hand holster after spinning the cylinder to check the loads. Picked up a long barreled, half magazine '94 with a curved lever from beside the filing cabinet, and a box of .32 Winchester Center-fire rounds, and started to load it after checking it over carefully.

"So... " Cordelia said. "Is it just us? Or how many?"

Dude glanced sharply at her; started to say something and apparently thought twice, and then shrugged. "Me and Chance, my two deputies – three counting Julian up in the upstairs on watch. Deputies don't get around so well these days, so makes me and Chance for mobile folks." He glanced over at John T. "You said Harrah is tied up and Colorado is dead? Anyone else?"

Chance nodded. "I did say that. Sam Sharpnose _might_ make it, him and Dog," he said.

"Dog?" Cordelia said, her lips twitching at the corners.

"Hell, I didn't name 'im," John T. said. "Let's see. Mississippi married the girl, and he ain't as adventurous these days. Lomax took a bullet to the hip and don't get around so well any more. Rest are scattered all to hell and gone, or buried."

"Or on the other side, like McKay, and Hedges," Dude said, nodding.

"Yeah. Damned shame, that."

"Hazard of the trade," Dude said. "And word came back that Shalako is down in Bolivia – "

"What about the troops at Fort Halleck," Cordelia asked.

"Naw," John T., said, shook his head, and added, "Posse Comitatus law. Federal troops aren't allowed to do law enforcement in the confines of the United States."

"Well, that's... stupid," Cordelia said, looking baffled.

"Needed, honey," Xander said, quietly. "Don't want a military dictatorship, or troops occupying civilian areas."

Dude nodded. "Set up to curb Federal abuses after the War Between the States, during reconstruction," he said, "And besides – I have reason to believe that the Colonel at the fort is one of Wilkins' cronies, anyway. Probably a good thing most of the garrison is in the Santa Ynez on maneuvers right now."

Cordelia sighed, looking frustrated.

"All right," Dude said, "And I have one more deputy, a part timer name of Chollo. He's fast and good; young though. He's also up in the Santa Ynez visiting his girl and what's left of his folks and running down a few things. I sent a telegram up but – "

"Actually, he's here," A voice came from the doorway. "Hey, John T."

People looked over to see a dark haired young man with a three day growth of beard and a lot of trail dust just leaning in the door frame. Cordelia swallowed hard, and then whistled softly.

"_Damn_. I may have to stay just to drool over all the men here," she said.

A young, dark tanned Elvis, or close enough. Complete with the eyes and the voice. And a pair of Colts in a twin holster rig worn low on the hips, and carrying a worn looking, chromed '94 Winchester with a brass tack studded stock and fore-end of some dark, figured wood. And wearing a black leather vest with a Town of Sunnydale Deputy Marshall star...

The newcomer flashed her a grin, and so did Xander. Xander looked over at her. "Damn, honey. You'll give me an inferiority complex," he said.

"_You're_ one of the _men_, idiot," Heidi said. "Definitely drool material. Tor?"

"Hell, if I leaned that way, I'd drool," Tor allowed.

Xander looked at him sharply. "Remind me to sleep on the _other_ side of the bunkhouse from you, Hauer."

"Chollo?" Dude said, his voice dry. "The comedian there is Xander Harris, Rory's nephew. The other two you know – Barrie and Hauer. His pretty gal there is Cordelia Chase. Guy with the funny looking gun and the big rifle is Vince." He waved toward Glenn and Kevin, "And you know these two bandits."

"Glenn, Kev." A nod, and then Cordelia got a sharp look from the new comer. "Didn't know Chase had another daughter."

"He doesn't," Glenn said.

Cordelia nodded. "Bit more distant a relation. I'm Elena Consuela's great niece."

"Ah." Chollo gave Dude an amused look, and said, "Quality of deputy is going up."

"Hell, she's not a deputy," Dude said. "Just a bystander who can shoot straighter and cooler than most gun hands I know." He winked at Cordelia and she laughed. "So can her man there."

"Uh huh," Chollo said. "Good quality to have. Sorry to drag along, Dude. Was clear over to Lompoc when your telegram caught up to me. Damned near killed two horses getting back."

"Ah. Figured that might be the case."

There was a soft clanging from a bell in the upper right back corner of the room, and everyone looked up at it, all but Dude, John T., and Chollo looking startled.

"A remote alarm?" Heidi said.

"Pulley. Cord runs from the bell through the ceiling and up to the upstairs," Dude said.

The older deputy rapped on the door frame a minute or so later, and called around it, "Company, Dude, John T.. Julian says it is our esteemed Interim Mayor come a courtin'. With friends."

"Heh. Sheriff Bob with him?" Dude called back.

"Naw." There was a chuckle. "Want me to go and let him in and escort him? Or send him on his way?"

"Give it a few, and then go let him in. Want to hear what the man has to say," Dude said. "You, John T.?"

"Hell, I'm curious," Chance said.

"I'll go help let them in," Chollo said, picking up his Winchester.

"Our cue," Tor said, and Heidi nodded. "Give us a few to slip out the back?"

"Yeah. Chollo? Go lock up behind them and make sure the Mayor doesn't have company out back, too. Then go help let our guests in."

"Will do."

"Thanks, Tor, Heidi," Xander said. Cordelia echoed him.

Tor nodded. "We'll be around."

"Might be better if you weren't," Cordelia said.

"We start something, we finish," Heidi said. "Even if someone else starts it first. Just better if Wilkins doesn't have a reason to shoot us out of hand right away, maybe."

"Think he's already got that," Chance said.

"We went out to deal with someone who shot two friends of ours: Brett and Melody, and took another hostage," Tor said. "Has nothing to do with Wilkins."

"Yeah. Our issues with Jack and Kyle are none of his business," Heidi said.

"But you're not going to stay to argue the point," Dude said.

"Not the best time or place right here, with you," Tor said. Dude nodded.

"Want us to get your stuff from the hotel and bring it here, Xan? Other guns?" Tor asked.

Xander shook his head, and then paused and said, "Might actually be a good idea, if you can," and Tor nodded, turned and headed out, Chollo and Heidi following behind.

"We'll let you know if we can't get your stuff, Xan," Tor tossed back over a shoulder.

Heidi paused in the doorway and turned. She looked at Xander, nodded, "He wasn't being completely honest," she said, jerking her head in the direction Tor and Chollo were taking. She looked at Cordelia and smiled, "And when it happened to him, I put him back together too, after."

"Don't get dead, Heidi," Cordelia said, smiling back.

* * *

Finney – that was it, Jason Finney. Xander now had a vague recollection of meeting him again when they'd finally escorted the Maitland kid back to the Marshall's Office and jail. Anyway, Finney and Chollo escorted Mayor Reptile and his little group back to the specially laid out tableau they'd set up to greet him. At least, Xander thought that was what it was...

Tableau. One of the words he'd never been sure of, really, but it sounded right. Like a little stage play or a diorama thingy, only with live actors and real props.

His Honor Interim Mayor Wilkins. Deputy Interim Mayor and Assistant Mayor Alan Finch. Detective, err, Deputy Sheriff Paul Stein. And Mister Hezekiah Trick, Vampire.

Dude's lookout, an older black man of about his late sixties with a bad limp and a white fringe of hair – who looked familiar, but Xander couldn't place a name or an actor to his looks – had come down while they were escorting Tor and Heidi out safely. Given them the lowdown on who was out front. He had old cavalry pants and suspenders, a Springfield trapdoor carbine, and a Remington in a flapped crossdraw holster on a plain belt. Uh... Julian. That was it. Julian or Jules Bernier.

He looked calm, competent, unflappable and personable. And dangerous, but that went without saying. They all looked dangerous, in their little group.

Even Cordy.

Hell, especially Cordy.

Anyway, their little real person diorama...

Dude was sitting behind his desk with his Winchesters laid out in front of him, all three of them, and a six-and-a-half inch Colt laying close to his right hand. Cocked. His twelve gauge, short barreled coach gun was propped against the desk near to hand also. He was cleaning the other long, fancy, inlaid Colt from his case.

John T. had taken over the side desk or credenza or table or whatever it was that Xander had been using for cleaning supplies while cleaning his guns and Cordelia's Winchester while he was, uh, in his funk. He had his three carbines arrayed in front of him, and was cleaning the fancy Colt from his case also, his yellowed stag handle lying near to his hand.

Also cocked.

Vince – Vin to his friends – had a chair leaned back against the wall on the other side of the room towards the back left, his new fancy single action in his hand where he was examining it, hat pulled down low, and his big rifle leaning a bit ostentatiously against the wall next to his chair. And of course that mare's leg in its holster, never too far from his hand...

Glenn and Kev had the table on that wall nearer the front, both of their hats on the table beside of them, casually playing Go Fish with an old deck of cards.

Cordelia had the wall by the end of the back corner bookcase, between it and the steel shuttered window, with her newly cleaned and loaded drilling leaning against her, muzzles down with the stock against her hip and a stake thrust through the wide belt of her skirt jacket outfit. And the slightly disheveled remnants of her nice hairdo straggling in tendrils down around her face. Poor hairdo – she'd worked hard on that, earlier... was it today? Whew. Long ass day.

She still looked absolutely gorgeous to Xander's not unbiased eye.

Xander had the wall near to the office door, directly opposite from Cordelia. Cordelia's '92 leaning barrel down against his right hip, left foot up and flat against the wall with his knee bent, and a stake through his belt behind the buckle, between the two front cartridge holders.

Which were partially empty. Almost... ostentatiously so.

Gee. You'd almost think he wanted to call attention to the fact that he'd burned a few cartridges earlier that night for what Rory always called "serious social intercourse."

You'd not be wrong.

The cartridge loops on the other holders beneath the suit jacket, extending to behind the left hip and the small of his back, and the ones in the ammo loops in the shoulder holster were refilled, of course.

Just in case.

Nice stakes, too. Desert ironwood, and with a tapering diamond shaped cross section ahead of the oval gripping part. About ten inches long not counting the cord wrapped grip. Mister Scriptwriter had spared no effort on props... they were better than Xander could have made in Wood Shop or in his Dad's workshop.

Kevin Smith had helped Dude with planning and arranging the little show setting. Nice eye for the dramatic, that man had. You'd almost think he should go into setting up stage shows. Of course, he might actually have stage shows at his places of business. Xander had never been to his saloon -slash- gambling house and, err, other establishment in Santa Barbara, after all.

And they weren't all that unknown in the West.

Had to do something for entertainment in an era with no movie theaters and/or television, after all. Plays, dramas, acts, comedians, dancing troupes, magic acts and singers were awfully popular at saloons and bars above the level of dives in the West... Hell, Bill Cody had made a reputation and a living out of going into "Wild West Shows" after his buffalo hunting, gunfighting, and Indian fighting days. More and steadier money in it.

And a lot less chance of getting shot.

And, well, if Xander had had a few suggestions about the dramatic arrangement? At least about the idea of setting one up? Hey, turn about fair play, and if you think that sounds like he'd borrowed from their mysterious benefactor and Scriptwriter who'd sent them here and set up this nifty playground for them, well...

You'd not be wrong.

Like he'd told Cordy: always steal only from the best.

Psychological warfare and all. What was that saying by that German guy? The stage is just warfare conducted in a different arena? Or was that politics? He couldn't remember. Maybe Soldier Boy knew. Xander, well...

He was just a gunfighter, not a politician, Jim. Nor an actor.

And if it annoyed Mayor MacReptile to be cooling his heels by the gate while they set up for him? Wah. He could always leave in a huff.

He hadn't.

All righty.

Lights. Cameras. Action.

Roll 'em.

Take one of one.

* * *

The little group of four came into the office escorted by Chollo and his Winchester – which was not pointed at anyone, young Presley had it back over his shoulder – and formed a small, ragged line in front of Dude's desk. The Dishonorable Richard Wilkins de Foist in front and slightly to the fore of them. Alan Finch on his right, looking around nervously and sweating. The dapper Mister Trick, in his elegantly tailored dark suit, Stetson, and gunbelt to his left hand and a bit behind, looking around curiously and a bit smugly. And Sheriff's Deputy Stein to Alan's right, about as far from Trick as he could manage, probably, without being obvious about it.

And looking studiously blank, Xander believed was the expression he wanted. A very _studied_ blankness.

If Mayor Snake-eyes was perturbed by the wait and the discourtesy of it all, he didn't show any of it. He just looked... amused.

Rats.

Oh, well. Wilkins was a very cool and collected man. Always had been, in either Sunnydale.

They could always rattle him as they went along...

"I left the other two Deputies and Mr. Trask cooling their heels by the front gate, Dude," Chollo said. "Mr. Trask didn't seem too happy about that."

"He'll get over it," Dude said.

"Thought you might see it that way," Chollo said, nodding.

Over behind Trick, at the table, Glenn said, very quietly and softly, but it cut across the room like a knife blade... "A gentleman takes his hat off in the presence of a lady, son."

Trick raised an eyebrow, and glanced almost pointedly over at Vince.

"Vin is an old friend," Cordelia said, smiling sweetly. "He's exempt."

Vince pushed his hat back on his head and pursed his lips, thoughtfully. He glanced up at Cordelia and nodded. "Yeah, we've known each other for oh, several days now."

"At least three," Cordelia said with a slight nod back, smiling.

"And if I were to suggest that I am no gentleman?" Trick said.

"Then remove it anyway... _son_," Chollo said from where he was leaning comfortably in the door frame. Just as quietly and softly as Glenn had. But in _him_, you could hear the menace as clear as a telegraph.

Damn. Gonna have to get him _and_ Tor to teach seminars.

Wilkins smiled tolerantly as Trick nodded and removed his Stetson. Trick let the hat hang negligently by his side from his left hand. Stein already had his off, held in front of him with both hands on the brim.

You'd almost think he wanted to make dead certain that John T., Dude, and Chollo _knew_ both of his hands were occupied.

"Deputy Stein," John T. rumbled out. "I see the esteemed Bob Munroe, Esquire, couldn't make it?"

"I'm afraid that Sheriff Munroe is a bit... indisposed right now, John T.," Stein said, nodding.

"Rather expect that I _may_ expect that Sheriff Munroe may continue to be indisposed at any point that I may be around, sir," Chance said, nodding.

"I'm afraid that you managed to make a rather indelible impression on the good Sheriff at your last discussion, John," Wilkins said, still smiling tolerantly.

"That would be Mister Chance to you, Mister Wilkins," John T. said, and Xander damned near collapsed into hysterical laughter at his perch by the door. Cordelia looked, from the way her lips were twitching at the corners and her eyes were dancing, to be in about the same fix, which didn't help any. John T. added, "And I would suspect that you are right about that, sirrah."

"Mister Chance then, of course," Wilkins said, amiably, but Xander saw something flash in his eyes just then that wasn't even remotely amiable, nor quite human.

"In the interests of getting this little parlay on track here, Mr. Interim Mayor," Dude said, drawing Wilkins eyes over to him – and off of John T. – "May I ask what we can do for you this fine evening?"

"Mr. _Mayor_," Trick said, casually.

"Not until next year," Dude said, just as casually, "if then." Trick's eyes flashed, slightly.

"Of course, Marshall," Wilkins said. He nodded. "I would like to negotiate with you on behalf of Mr. Maitland – and the town of Sunnydale, of course – for Blake Maitland's release from your jail, here."

Dude nodded, smiling slightly. "No," he said.

"No?" Again, that indefinable flash of something in the eyes. Just a touch of the genial amiability went away from the smile and the expression, too.

"No." Dude's eyes were all too human, but... granite had more flexibility to it.

"Hrrm. I would like you to reconsider that statement," Wilkins said, easily, "In light of any number of considerations."

"I've considered very carefully," Dude said, still smiling slightly. "And the answer is, no. I sent Mr. Scott and Mr. Smith there earlier to the telegraph office to wire the Federal and State Marshall's offices in Sacramento to send a US and California State Marshall, and a few California Rangers, down here to pick up young Mr. Maitland for trial there."

Must have been while he was all funked out, Xander mused. He hadn't even noticed their absence.

"I'd expect that they would be highly disappointed," John T. said, "Were they to arrive and find no prisoner bound over."

"I see. And, most unfortunate," Wilkins said. "I suspect I don't need to mention that I am highly disappointed in your decision here. And in your actions to date as Marshall, sir."

"Well, I am saddened by that, Mr. Interim Mayor," Dude said, his tone of voice both wry and arid.

"I can, of course, remove that difficult decision from you," Wilkins said, back to smiling amiably, "Along with your position as Marshall, Marshall. Regretfully, of course."

"Actually?" Dude smiled back, with equal amiability. "I'm afraid you can't. That takes a two thirds majority vote from the Interim City Council and City Elders of Sunnydale, for due cause, with a representative from the County Seat presiding. And it has to be held at the next full Council meeting, not at an emergency or impromptu meeting called for the purpose."

"And," Glenn put in, "I understand the next _full_ meeting is in late September, if I recall correctly."

"You do, sir," Chollo said from his door frame.

Wilkins smile froze, momentarily, and Dude continued. "By which point this will all be resolved, one way or another. It's a long ride from Sacramento to here – but not _that_ long."

"I see," Wilkins said. "You apparently are quite familiar with your City and County bylaws, then, and City regulations."

Dude rather negligently gestured to the book cases in the corner with the disassembled Colt he'd been fiddling with. "Those law books aren't just props, Mr. Interim Mayor. I actually have read them," he said. Dude smiled. "When I take on a job, I _do_ that job."

"You are to be commended on that, of course. I'll have to think of something _suitable_ for the occasion," Wilkins said. "You do realize that here in Sunnydale, we prefer to handle our own affairs. We don't care very much for outsiders involving themselves in our business, even by invitation."

John T. gave a raspy chuckle, and Wilkins glanced at him, smiling.

"A statement that does not apply to you, Mr. Chance," Wilkins said, "By virtue of your long friendship and association with the Marshall here, why, you're practically an honorary citizen of Sunnydale already. And Mr. Smith and Mr. Scott, of course, are local citizens in good standing."

"Meaning that I'm neither a local citizen, nor in good standing?" Chollo said from the doorway. "I'm almost hurt by that."

"Well, I hadn't stated nor implied that, but since you ask," Wilkins said, "A half-breed and a killer and an itinerant gunfighter? Hardly."

An awful lot of eyes went hard around the room at that one, all of a sudden.

"Hmm. Occurs to me that I'm a half-breed and a killer and an itinerant gunfighter," Vince said, rolling a cigarette.

Cordelia said, "You seem to have a number of those on your payroll, Mister Wilkins."

"Of course," Xander put in, "What's left of the O'Toole clan has been here for over a decade, so I guess that makes Jack an honorary citizen at the very least." Xander smiled, "But I don't think that Mr. Trick here is a local."

"And what makes you suspect that I'm a killer, or a gunfighter?" Trick said, looking Xander over casually.

"Oh, your eyes. That low slung, tied down rig. And your affinity for, uh, darkness," Xander said.

"A lot of people carry guns," Trick said, mildly. His eyes flickered to the stake in Xander's belt. "And speaking of the other, a couple of our Mayor's other esteemed associates seem to have come up missing recently. You wouldn't perhaps have heard any rumors about that?"

"If you mean the Gorch brothers, why, I seem to recall hearing," Cordelia said, "That they went all to pieces the other night." Trick's eyes went to the stake in her belt, and he smiled.

It wasn't a nice smile. Neither was the one Cordelia gave back to him.

"And all the king's horses and all the king's men," Kevin said...

"Couldn't put Humpty _or_ Dumpty back together again," Trick said, finishing for him. "Yes, I'm familiar with the old rhyme."

Wilkins looked at Cordelia, and said, "Such a lovely young lady, and so well dressed and well put together." His gaze went to Xander, "I must say, young man, my esteem for you as a successful returning local son is dropping considerably. Involving yourself with this small band of heroes and desperadoes is one thing, but involving your young lady? Tsk, tsk."

"Guess Cordelia figures that where I go, she does," Xander said, shrugging.

"You should reconsider that association, son," Wilkins said. "You don't quite seem to... fit in among these people."

"My father is dead, and I'm not your son, Wilkins," Xander said, smiling. "And as far as fitting in... you might ask Wilson Slade about that. Or Jack O'Toole. I'd say you could ask Bill Corby or a few others, but, hey, you can't."

Wilkins smiled back, still genial. "You shouldn't quite sound so proud of that, Mr. Harris. A young man of your skills and prospects, with a possibility of a family ahead of you, should aspire to greater than," he waved casually toward Dude and Chance, "a career as a gunfighter, or, as a member of this august company. Very limited prospects there. Very."

Sigh. This was getting nasty. And personal.

"Mayor Wilkins?" Xander shook his head, looking into those cold, reptilian eyes. Somehow without shivering... "I was a member of this august company, as you put it, long before I came back to this town. I killed almost a half a hundred men in Australia, not long back, in one fight. Some at long range, some up close and so personal they had powder burns on them when they fell. Was in a blue funk for three days after, 'til Cordy brought me back out of it." He smiled again, "Not proud, no. But I can think of worse things to be than a killer and an itinerant gunfighter. Especially if it makes me like Dude or John T. Chance. Or Vin."

"Worse men to be like," Cordelia said, quietly.

Xander nodded. Different place, different time, different Xander. But... always steal from the best. He wasn't above borrowing from the scriptwriter to make a point.

"Kind of beside the point," John T. drawled.

"It is that thing," Dude said, nodding. "Mister Harris and Miss Chase here became involved _only_ because an old friend of their family and an old acquaintance of theirs were shot and killed earlier tonight, and only for the duration. They are not involved past this evening, in any business you have with me and Mr. Chance here."

Xander's eyebrows went up at that one, and he saw Cordelia blink hard across the room, and then scowl slightly. He hadn't expected that. But maybe he should have...

There'd been Dude's odd almost hesitation and careful shift around the question at Cordelia's 'besides us', earlier...

"Same goes for Mr. Garrett," Dude was continuing, "As well as anyone _else_ involved in that little altercation who were not wearing badges."

"Guess he told me," Vince said, to no one in particular.

Wilkins relaxed slightly, and smiled a bit more broadly. "Well, then," he said, cheerfully, "Why, I see no reason at all that they should be considered a part of our business then, from here on in. No need for any bystanders to come to harm in city affairs, ever."

"As long as they remain bystanders, of course," Trick said.

Ouch. Talk about your pointed comments.

"Shouldn't be an issue," Dude said, shrugging. "Mr. Harris and Miss Chase were fully intending to head to their Uncle's ranch in another day or so, anyway. And there was talk I recall of them seeking a place of their own, possibly in Colorado. And I'm sure Mr. Garrett can find profitable ways to spend his time at the gaming tables of the Paradise."

Vince raised his eyebrows.

"Excellent," Wilkins said, rubbing his hands together briskly. "As placing civilians in harm's way _would_ constitute due cause, perhaps. I'd offer root beers all around, but we seem to be away from my personal soda fountain here." John T. blinked at that, looking bemused. "I take it you won't reconsider on our earlier point of discussion?"

"No." Dude said, flatly. "Do we have anything else we need to discuss?"

"Well, if you'll allow me to speak with young Mr. Maitland – "

"No." Flat again. "I'll allow his family in to see him, or his lawyer. You're not family, nor an attorney of record. Or even an attorney."

"And, I might mention," John T. rumbled again, "That Devlin Bishop is sitting in the cell block area with an 1887 Winchester ten gauge across his knees. Should anyone attempt to gain unauthorized access to young Mr. Maitland, there could be unfortunate consequences." He smiled thinly, "I'm afraid that Devlin's not as young as he was, and sometimes he gets a bit... twitchy."

Wilkins smile froze. So did his eyes. "I see. Well, then, I can't see anything else to discuss, can you?"

"I'll see you out," Chollo said. "That is, if you don't mind being escorted by a half-breed killer and an itinerant gunfighter."

"I'll help," Vince said. He picked up his rifle from beside his chair, sticking the Grover under his belt.

Trick glanced over at him. "You know," he said, "I suspect that Deke Matthews might be a little irritated about you being in possession of his grand prize there."

"That saddens me, it truly does," Vince said. "Here was I thinking we had a fair exchange."


	16. There Will be a Short Intermission

**Chapter Fifteen: There Will be a Short Intermission Between Shows... (Please to visit the snack bar until we return)**

* * *

"_If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However if circumstance have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each others' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

"Just what exactly the hell did you _mean_ by that, Dude? Telling that- that- that smiling _thing_ that we're not _involved_ here and we're not _helping_ you?" Cordelia's eyes were flashing, and a slow flush was rising up from her neck. "Were you actually _born_ completely deficient? Or maybe dropped on your head once too often as a child?"

Heh. If you think women aren't explosive, just drop one, as his dad always used to say. And Dude had dropped Cordelia real hard, and she'd bounced a couple of times on that pretty ass when she'd hit, it sounded like...

"And so don't _even_ smirk at him, John T. – I _so_ haven't even _started_ in on _you_ yet. You just _wait_. I wasn't _even_ going to say anything while that- that- that _creature_ was in here, but if you think that we're just going to _abandon_ you and John T., you _so_ very _much_ have _no_ idea just what the _hell_ you're talk– "

Wow. Cordelia had worked herself up into a world class snit – no a full blown rage – like he hadn't see in her in a long, long time...

Of course, Cordelia always had been loyal, even if she _had_ always shown it in odd and oblique ways, usually, and Dude had practically taken that loyalty and slapped her with it.

"_Please_, Miss Chase," Dude said, holding up both hands in a _stop_ gesture, and wincing. Chollo was out and out grinning at her from the doorway. So were Glenn and Kevin from their card game.

"Before you take any more small bloody strips off of me and John T. with your tongue, will you do me at least the courtesy of hearing us _out_ first?" Dude said. "_Please_?"

"What he said," Chance grumbled, a bit sourly. He also looked a bit amused, and impressed, so maybe the sourness balanced out.

Dude flashed a glare at him that clearly said 'Do. _Not_. Set. Her. Off. Again.' in smoke signals and semaphores.

"Hrrmph." Cordelia subsided, kind of. "It's Cordelia."

"Huh?" Dude and John T.'s eyebrows went up. Xander had to turn away to hide a grin.

"My _friends_ call me Cordelia, or Cordy. _Not_ 'Miss Chase'. And both of you _are_ friends, even if I am _so_ very pissed _off_ at you right now that I can't see straight. Or _I_ consider you friends, anyway. I'm _starting_ to wonder if it's _mutual_."

Ouch. Definitely only somewhat subsided...

"Cordelia," Dude said, venturing a hesitant smile. The smoking glare he got back killed it like fog on a hot day.

"You have a limited number of words before I eviscerate you and make _Vince_ Marshall," Cordelia said, sweetly. "Use them wisely."

Dude winced and John T. gulped, visibly. Xander couldn't help it – he started choking so hard from trying to hold in laughter he doubled over and an alarmed Chollo had to slap him on the back.

That got him glares from Dude, Chance, _and_ Cordelia. Sobered him up in a real hurry.

"Uh, sorry. Frog in my throat." He saw Dude and Chance's skeptical looks, and lost it again. "Hecate's _tits_, Cordy. I haven't seen you like this since I ruined your ball gown and you nearly broke my nose..."

That started her smirking. She folded her arms over her chest and glared back at the Marshall and Chance.

"Seem to recall Dude telling the Mayor that he couldn't replace him," Glenn said.

"_I'm_ not the Mayor," Cordelia said, turning that venomously sweet smile on him. "Don't bet against me."

"Uh, yes'm," Glenn said. "I'm shutting up now."

"Believe me, I consider _you_ a friend, Cordelia, and Harris there," Dude said. "Even if you _are_ pissed off at me, and you do have a mouth on you that could peel off armor plate when you get going. I am _not_ ungrateful for your wanting to help here, believe me." Chance nodded.

"_What_ then, for crying out loud?"

"Hey, if this has to do with me funking out, earlier," Xander began...

"It doesn't," Vince said, quietly. Xander looked over to where Vin was sitting and rolling a cigarette, raising his eyebrows.

"Don't have to know Dude's or John T.'s minds to know that," Vince said, sticking his smoke between his lips and lighting it with a match he flicked alight with his thumbnail. "Battle shock can happen to anyone, any time. And even come back later, if they've had it before."

"He is right," Chance said. nodding. "You did what needed doing and had it after, and quiet like. And like Dude said, your Young Missy there is one of the coolest shots and most cold blooded gunhands I've ever seen. So are you, in the thick of it."

"Then... " Cordelia blinked at both the compliment, _and_ the young Missy thing, probably.

"Like I told your aunt," Dude said, quietly. "I don't want to see any more of my friends bleeding out on some floor somewhere if I can help it."

"Well, neither do I! Neither do _we_, dammit – "

"But this isn't your fight past this point," Chance said. "And neither one of you need to turn into broken down old gunfighters like me and Dude. Or cold blooded killers, like Deke, or Slade. I watched your fella there come real close, twice tonight. Too close."

"Yup." Dude looked at her, and said, "Go out to Rory's tomorrow morning. Hell, head for Silverado and get that ranch and some stock and raise blooded horses and handsome sons and beautiful little girls or something." He scowled, "Don't get your damn heads shot off getting between us and that pack of killers. Don't turn into us, either. It's not something you want to be."

"Shouldn't that be our choice?" Xander said, as quietly as Dude had.

"Mr. Harris, I can't tell you how proud it made me to hear you tell that snake that you consider me and Dude someone to model yourself after," Chance said. "And hearing Miss Cordelia there say that there were worse men to become like, likes to make my heart burst," he added. "But she is not right. There are no worse men, and you can aspire to better, I believe."

"Again, I think we should make that choice," Xander said.

"And if it's Miss Cordelia there bleeding out in some saloon?" Chance asked, softly.

Ouch. "I- " Xander spread his hands, a bit helplessly. "I don't have an answer to that. There isn't one."

"That _would_ turn you into someone like us," Dude said. "Just hollow you out and leave you with nothing but empty inside, and no way to fill it. Or her, if it was you. I've seen you two together."

"Crap," Cordelia said, biting at her lower lip. "Dude, that smiling monster is going to _kill_ you. And John. And your deputies and Glenn and Vin and Kevin here."

"We might have something to say about that, ma'am," Chollo said.

Cordelia looked at him, angrily. "Yeah? And just how many guns can this Maitland and Stillwell and whoever throw against you, anyway? How many can you shoot before you finally go down, huh?" Cordelia shook her head, and folded her arms over her chest, huffing in irritation.

"Enough to make them think about it, maybe," Chance said, shrugging. "We took on a job here. Never expected to die in bed."

"_Men_."

"Tor and Heidi said there's good people here, even considering the ones ground under Wilkins," Xander said, mildly. "Really doesn't encourage them to throw him off if you chase them off from helping."

"There's something to that," Dude said. "But I'd rather it wasn't you and her. Really not your fight."

"And if something happens to _make_ it ours?" Cordelia said, a bit sullenly.

"Well, we'll just have to re-ne-go-she-ate that when it comes up," Chance said.

"Occurs to me," Vince said, "That like Barrie and Hauer said, I don't have a badge and I don't take orders from you, Marshall."

"I'd really rather you stood off too, Vin," Dude said. "But I won't push it real hard in your case."

"Guess I can loaf around pretty much where I please."

"Don't have to let you do it inside my Jail house," Dude said, mildy. He waved it off. "Hell. You're already a burned out old gunslinger. You do as you please."

"Reckon I will at that."

Xander stood, picking up Cordelia's rifle, and nodding to Dude. "You really think Wilkins will do as he says and leave us out of this?"

Cordelia stood up also, holding her drilling, and slumping a bit.

"Wilkins kind of prides himself on being a man of his word for the voters and all," Glenn said. "I expect he will."

"Long as he thinks he's whittling down the odds by doing it," Kevin said, nodding.

"Dude," Cordelia said, quietly. "If you two idiots get yourselves killed, and Vin too, I am _so_ never speaking to _any_ of you ever again even if I have to come to Hell and kick your asses to let you know that."

"Guess she told you."

"Oh, _shut_ the hell up, Vin."

* * *

"I thought you could out argue anyone," Xander said, as they slipped out the Marshall's place's back door, watched over by Chollo.

"Well, _you_ weren't much help," Cordelia grumbled. "And why _is_ that, exactly?"

"I could say that the man was right," Xander said, softly. Cordelia stared at him, her eyes wide, shocked and wounded.

"Cordy... " Xander shook his head. "Dude and Chance are _right_. If I saw you lying somewhere dead with a bullet through you, it would _kill_ me. I _might_ be walking around, but I'd be _dead_. Just a hollow, empty machine that walks, talks, eats and kills people."

"Dammit. I don't have an answer for that," Cordelia said. "There so _isn't_ an answer to that, and you _know_ it. Jerk."

"What I said."

"Oh, shut up."

"Cordy," Xander said. He leaned the rifle across the crook of his other arm, and turned to face her, leaning against a nearby wall. "Do you _honestly_ think the Scriptwriter or whoever brought us here is just going to _let_ us wander off into the sunset and raise horses and kids?"

"But you just... " Cordelia shook her head. "Ok, _now_ you're giving me whiplash, jerk."

Xander shrugged. "What really scares me is the idea of what whoever or _whatever_ he, she, or it is might do to keep us in, if we try."

"Oh, no... " Cordelia said, putting a hand to her mouth, her eyes suddenly wide and worried. "You don't think... "

"Yeah, I kind of do." Xander shrugged again, and said, "I don't think they went to all this trouble to put us in here, just to let us out of Rio Blanco on the Hellmouth without doing whatever it is we're here for."

"But then, why in the hell did you just... " Cordelia trailed off, waving her hand back toward the jail, looking bewildered.

"We head out to Rory's tomorrow, letting _everyone_ see us leaving town and getting out of it," Xander said, smiling slightly. "And we ease back a bit and maybe discuss this whole mess with Rory and maybe Bethany. And get some advice and a bit better idea of just what we're in up to our necks in."

"And then... " Cordelia's eyes were fixed on his.

"And then we see what happens and maybe ease back and help settle things whether Dude and John T. like us being in it or not," Xander finished. "You might remember: I don't leave _my_ friends hanging out in the cold, either. Doesn't matter if it isn't Buffy and Willow. I just _don't_."

"Dammit. I _so_ really _hate_ it when you make sense, Idiot Boy," Cordelia said, frowning. "It upsets the natural order of the universe."

"Does make you kinda wonder if gravity is gonna suddenly start falling up, huh?"

"Yeah, it kinda does," she said, giving him one of the patented Cordelia Chase thousand watt smiles.

"I love you, you know that, right?" Xander said, looking at her seriously.

"I'm starting to figure that out, yeah."

"Just so you know," Xander said, giving her _his_ patented half grin.

"Let's get back to the hotel so you can _show_ me, idiot," Cordelia said, her voice going all phone sex on him.

"Yeah, guns do make you horny, don't they."

"Don't _make_ me hurt you, Pinky."

"Ooh. Hurt me, beat me, make me write bad checks."

About less than a half a block – one alleyway over, there came a short, low whistle, followed by another. Both of them glanced towards it and froze, startled. Then Xander whistled back, softly, and a pair of figures melted out of the darkness from the shadows at the back doorway of a nearby building.

"Tor, Heidi," Cordelia said, nodding.

"Cordy," Heidi nodded back.

"Came to let you know we couldn't get your stuff for awhile," Tor said. "Was gonna have a chat with Ianara and get her to explain things to Elli and Haversham, the owners and managers of the Arms, but she wasn't in."

Xander shrugged. "Can't say I'm surprised. Getting a bit late."

Cordelia said, "It's all right, anyway. We're being run out of town on a horse."

"Horses," Xander said.

"What-_ever_."

Two sets of eyebrows ascended foreheads. "Marshall Dude is kicking you outta town?"

"Ah," Cordelia made a disgusted gesture, and said, "_Says_ it's for our own good. Just doesn't want us to get hurt, you ask me, and doesn't trust us to know what we're doing."

"Huh." Tor shook his head. "Don't _t__hat_ beat all. Man's an idiot – "

"– If he thinks he doesn't need every gun he can get," Heidi finished. "Maitland and Stillwell's men will be arriving before morning, and this town will be closed up tighter than a duck's ass."

"Said we were going," Xander said.

"_Didn't_ say we weren't going to do whatever we decide to do," Cordelia finished. They exchanged grins. He and Cordy could do that disconcerting 'finish each other's thoughts' thing too, when they wanted.

Tor's lips twitched at the corners, and he found a wall to lean against. Heidi leaned against him, and Tor put his arm around her.

"Whatcha got planned, Boss?" Heidi said.

Xander raised an eyebrow at the _Boss_, but didn't comment. He _did_ wonder suddenly if there'd been hyena possessions here in their youths, though... or maybe coyote, since this _was_ the Old West.

Shrug. "Gonna go back to the hotel, screw Cordy's brains out – never hard, there's not _that_ many – " she grinned and thumped him solidly and he grinned back at her, "And then make a big show that we're riding out to Rory's place tomorrow like we said."

Heidi laughed at the 'screw Cordy's brains out' comment, nodding, and then sobered. She said, "And then what?"

Tor and Heidi exchanged indecipherable looks.

"Seem to recall that Rory Harris knew his way around a gunfight, once upon a time," Tor said, with studied nonchalance.

"Yeah," Heidi said, nodding. "And he won the Rifle Shoot a few years back – got that fancy engraved Winchester of his there."

Cordelia, nodded, looked thoughtful. "Discuss all this with Rory. Figure out what's next."

"And then do that thing, regardless of what Dude and John T. think about it," Xander said, shrugging. "We _don't_ leave our friends in the lurch."

Tor cocked his head, studying them. "You guys talk funny sometimes."

"Hah." Cordelia said, "Coming from _you_ two, that's a riot."

Heidi's lips twitched, and she nodded. "Surely is. C'mon. We'll escort you back to the Arms."

Xander nodded, and said, as they headed off, "Can you two get us a wagon or something from the stables? We may as well do some morning shopping, gifts and crap, and make a real show of heading out."

Nods. "Gunn has a nice four seat covered Mountain Wagon with a rear bed and cargo box he rents out. And a team of four matched Cleveland Bays to go with," Tor said.

"That'll do _quite_ nicely," Xander said, a slow grin starting to spread across his lips. "Set it up for about a four day or so rental, and I'll hand you off some cash when we get to the hotel. Tell him Rory'll get it back to him when we're done, and I – _we're_ good for anything past four."

Heidi snorted laughter, "Xan," she said, "After the purses you won, Cordelia's betting spree, and word of your poker wins, you could keep the thing for a month and Gunn wouldn't sweat the rental."

"Nah," Tor said. "He'd just smile and keep adding up totals."

Xander scowled, "He can't know we'd pay," he said.

"Sure he does," Heidi said. "Or Rory would, and then take it out of your hide in strips if you didn't."

Cordelia nodded, looking distracted and thoughtful.

After a short while, she held up her hand. "Ok, hold up." Everyone did, looking at her curiously. She turned to face the Tor and Heidi act, as she'd termed it.

"Ok, I have to ask," Cordelia said. "Why?"

Four eyebrows went up again. "Why?" Tor said, exchanging looks with Heidi.

"All this," Cordelia made an encompassing gesture. "Why?"

Both of them cocked their heads, looking at her curiously.

"I think what my girl means, is why _us?_" Xander said, "You guys have been pretty good friends since we got back, actually, and that just doesn't add up." He'd almost said _compute_, and stopped himself, barely...

"Ah." Heidi said, folding her arms and leaning against Tor again, looking thoughtful. "Good question."

"Have a good answer?" Cordelia asked, her voice dry. "I mean, don't get me wrong: we're not going to shoot you or anything if you don't satisfy my curiosity. You've earned that and more. Just... curiosity."

"Hell, Cordy – you don't do that, anyway," Tor said. "Not out of hand and without cause."

"Well, _Cordy_ might – " Xander began, only to break off when Cordelia's elbow nailed him in the short ribs. "Oof!"

Heidi smirked and then looked at her, her expression shrouded, "And if I say we said already?"

"No." Cordelia shook her head. "Being friendly at the shoot? Ok, yeah. Pulling us out of a bad jam because it offended Tor's weird sense of honor? Sure, and it was _so_ appreciated, _believe_ me. But... everything else has been beyond the call." She glanced at Xander, raising an eyebrow. "Is that the term I want?"

"Yeah," Xander nodded.

Both studied them for a bit. Cordelia _and_ Xander gazed at them calmly, waiting. Xander rested the butt of the long '92 on the ground and crossed his hands at the muzzle, standing comfortably. Finally...

"Why didn't you come back?" Tor asked, tilting his head.

"Huh?" Xander blinked. So did Cordelia.

"As soon as Rory telegraphed you guys once they found out Jack wasn't dead and Jess was?" Heidi said, "And it caught up to you, wherever? We expected it."

"And you didn't," Tor said.

Xander and Cordelia exchanged looks again. Couldn't tell the truth, because it was... unbelievable. And the scriptwriter apparently hadn't quite anticipated this one.

The corner of Cordelia's mouth curled up into one of Xander's half smiles, and she shrugged. "Didn't seem like there was much point. Was pretty damned clear Sheriff Fat Bob wasn't going to do anything, and he probably wouldn't stand by and just let us gun Jack and Kyle down."

Nod. "And by the time word caught up to us six to eight months later in New York, just didn't seem quite as urgent any more," Xander said. "We'd moved on and were doing other things."

"Most gambling and shooting people," Cordelia said, dryly. "But we were building lives, and Sunnydale was a long way off, and another lifetime."

Tor nodded, and Heidi shrugged. "Yeah," she said. "And we all grew up together, more or less."

"Until you and Xan split off from each other, and he and Jesse tightened up, and we kind of went our separate ways," Tor said, nodding again. "And then the O'Toole clan moved in around ten, twelve or so years back, and Kyle and Rhonda hooked up with Jack and his buddies, and we kinda went along to get along."

"And then Kyle went bad and Jack went worse," Cordelia said. "Yeah, _so_ know the tale."

"Jack wasn't so bad, up until his brother, cousin, and two friends got themselves killed," Heidi said, "Mostly from being dangerous morons."

"Bad combination: stupidity, homebrew, and guns," Xander said. "Hey, ya'll watch this – bang! should go on a lot more headstones than it does."

Tor laughed. "Yup. And then Jack _did_ go bad, and he decided that he wanted a piece of Cordy, and it all got _real_ all of a sudden."

"Like we told the man," Heidi said, nodding. "Not a lot of better options, past that point."

"And _we're_ your better options?" Cordelia's eyes went wide, and her voice went incredulous. "Girl," she said, "You _so_ need a head doctor, both of you."

"You gonna stand there, Cordelia," Heidi said, folding her arms across her chest, and looking at her, "and look me dead in the eye and tell me that you and Xan are _not_ better than Jack, Kyle, Maitland, Stillwell, and that Corby slimebag?"

"Ah... " Cordelia blinked. She shook her head, and said, "We have, like, _zero_ real prospects. Half the people in town _so_ very wouldn't mind seeing us dead, _including_ the Mayor and Sheriff Fatso. Our main _friends_ here want us out of the way so we won't get _killed_ or maybe turn into _them_."

"You guys heard the term 'backing a losing horse'?" Xander said, smiling crookedly. "I think you got your options all screwed up."

"I won over a thousand betting on that long rifle of yours in the long range, and Heigh-ho here close to that," Tor said, "Against Ned Lazenby and Nick Sharp. I'm thinking maybe your horse is better than the ones pulling our stage up to this point."

"Hell," Heidi said, "I watched Xander damned near kill three people in cold blood looking so flat and so cold he barely looked human. And _stop_. Kill six when it _needed_ doing, just as fast and cool as Vin or Dude. And saw him go into a black spiral after that mess, and _you_ pull him back out, Cordy."

"Jack never did anything like that," Tor said, casually. "Or Kyle."

"Hell. _Kyle_ wouldn't have walked into that bar with me and Vin," Heidi said.

"You two are a lot _cleaner_ than the horse we've been on," Tor said, shaking his head. "Just as deadly dangerous, yeah – but hell, most entertainment I've seen in more than four years."

Sigh. "You got a low sense of humor, and you are easily entertained, Tor," Xander said, shaking his head and smiling crookedly.

Cordelia's expression had gone from incredulous to bemused, finally, after hitting most points in between along the way. She shook her head, too, smiling just as crookedly as Xander.

Heidi shrugged. "All I know is: this town has started to break wide open since you two came back, and Vin and John T. arrived. And a lot of the few worthwhile people are starting to talk about how maybe they should have shaken things up themselves a bit before, instead of waiting for a couple of exiled kids to do it."

Cordelia grinned suddenly, and glanced sidelong at Xander. "Well, hell," she said, "When it's the only game in town... "

"Time to kick over the table, break out your own cards, and start a new one," Xander said. "Fuck it. Welcome to the New Sunnydale Scooby Gang."

"Huh?" Both Tor _and_ Heidi blinked at him.

"Don't worry about it," Cordelia said. "He _thinks_ he has a sense of humor, but he's wrong."

"So, wanna go back up to our hotel and have a foursome to celebrate?" Xander said, deadpan.

_WHACK!_ Cordelia dope slapped him, looking at him incredulously. Xander rubbed the back of his head, scowling at her. "_ow_."

"_You_ – " Cordelia aimed an index finger at him, working her mouth for a moment with nothing coming out. Apparently, words actually failed her for once... after a long minute, her eyes narrowed, and the corners of her lips started twitching. "Oh, shut up and come on, asshole."

"Yes'm."

"I'm kind of surprised that Vince let you two head off without him body guarding you," Tor said. "Or giving _him_ a keeper," he added, pointing at Xander and laughing quietly.

"And a muzzle," Heidi added.

"We insisted," Cordelia said.

"I'm surprised that stopped him," Heidi told her.

"I'm surprised that stopped Glenn or Smith, either," Tor said.

Heidi quit laughing under her breath long enough to cock her head in a listening manner. She drew her pistol from her shoulder holster, suddenly intently examining the shadows down the alleyway a bit.

"Who says it did?" Vin's voice came from the shadows as he peeled himself away from a nearby wall, a little way down from them. "Ease up, Barrie. It's me."

Cordelia huffed, blowing hair from her eyes and rolling them at him. "Exactly how long have you been back there behind us?"

"Oh..." Vin shrugged. "Awhile."

"So, are Kevin and Glenn back there too, somewhere?" Xander said, shaking his head in amusement. He looked a bit harder into the shadows Vin had appeared from. "Oh, never the hell mind. Hey, Glenn, Kev."

"I'm ashamed to say that we are, now," Glenn said.

"No, you're just ashamed we got caught," Kevin said.

"Well, there is that."

"You know," Xander said, "I _did_ tell you guys I could take a piss by myself, right? And now I have Heidi _and_ Cordelia to hold it for me."

Whap!

"Dream on, Xan."


	17. A Pleasant Day for a Stroll, err, Ride

**Chapter ****Sixteen: A Pleasant Day for a Stroll, err, Ride...**

* * *

"_If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

Xander sipped at his coffee, watching the street outside the Sunnydale Arms main dining room. He wasn't quite as paranoid as the other night – they had a table where they could see out through the front windows, if not exactly within direct line of sight from them.

Excellent coffee. The Arms put on a truly fantastic lunch buffet. Brunch. Late late breakfast, early lunch, whatever.

He glanced over at Cordelia, sitting across the table from him, also looking out the windows. Xander grinned... there hadn't been a foursome – not that he'd had any real expectations, just a joke – but he and she had managed to have a memorable night. She caught his glance and lifted an eyebrow at him.

"And what are _you_ grinning at, Hyena Boy?" Cordelia asked him, her tone arch.

"Most beautiful girl in Sunnydale, I'm thinking," he said.

She had on another pair of the British fox-hunting riding pants and boots this morning. In dark red, with a matching tailed coat and high black boots that matched her Stetson. And she looked like why the riot started, as he'd heard his dad tell his mom once, back when things were good between them...

"But you so _might_ be a bit biased," Cordelia said, starting to smile back.

"Nah." Xander shook his head. "And any competitors are taken, anyway."

"Better be."

A street car went by towards the Fort Halleck end of town, drawn by a pair of nice looking dapple gray Percherons. The banner along the upper edge and rear said: Gunn's Livery, Main Street Trolley. Damn. Gunn must be doing a pretty nice business, here. And also damn: Sunnydale back now had the makings of a nice, prosperous town.

Get Wilkins and his cronies out of it, and stop it from turning into a haunt and feeding ground for monsters.

"Last night was... something," Cordelia said, smiling at him over her coffee cup. "I can't believe it keeps getting better."

"Gets much better, I may die," Xander said, smirking back at her. "But it beats a _lot_ of ways to go that this town wants to provide for me."

Cordelia shivered slightly, nodding. Over at his apparently usual table, Wilkins was having brunch also, with Edna May across the table from him.

He raised his coffee cup to them in a slight toast. Xander nodded back.

"Shall we?" Xander took out his wallet and laid a couple of bills on the table.

"Might as well," Cordelia said. "No sense in putting it off."

They'd already paid the porter to have their belongings delivered to the Livery Stable, and their morning purchases, along with a note and a tip for Gunn and Isabelle to have them loaded onto their wagon rental for them. Like she said, no sense in dawdling about.

The waiter bustled over, with Mr. Haversham, the Arms manager and part-owner behind him.

"Compliments of the Sunnydale Arms, Mr. Harris, Miss Chase," Haversham said, smiling at them.

"Ah. Consider it a nice tip for the waiter," Xander said. "And if you'd see," he added, glancing at the waiter, "that a portion gets back to the chef, we'd appreciate it."

"Certainly, sir," the waiter said, smiling broadly. "And thank you, very much. Mr. Nightlinger will surely appreciate it, also."

"I _do_ wish that you would reconsider checking out today, sir, madame," Haversham said. "And extend your stay with us."

"Would be nice, but," Xander smiled, shaking his head.

"We had plans to visit with Rory and his family while we're here," Cordelia said. "But it has been lovely here, thank you."

"No, thank you, madame," Haversham said, with a smile and a slight bow. "It has been our pleasure. And do please visit with us again. I'll make certain that our staff knows to extend you and Mr. Harris every courtesy."

"Thank you," Xander said, smiling back.

"Wow," Cordelia said, her eyes following Haversham and the vanishing waiter. "I don't think... I don't think I've _ever_ gotten this kind of a reception anywhere in _our_ Sunnydale, not even with _Daddy_. And _he_ had interests in half the town."

"Apparently, they like us," Xander said, his expression bemused and a bit stunned, as was Cordelia's. "Or they like our celebrity status and notoriety."

"No. They like _us_," Cordelia said, nodding. "I can _tell_ when it's genuine."

"I'll bow to your superior skills there, then."

Outside, beyond the front doors, Xander tilted Cordelia's Model '92 back over his left shoulder and slipped a two dollar bill into the palm of Mister Beauregard, the late late middle aged black doorman, getting a broad smile.

"Why, thank you, young sir," Beauregard said. He bowed slightly and tipped his hat to Cordelia, who beamed at him. "And I gather that you are taking your leave of our fine establishment?"

"For now," Xander said.

"A pity, that," Beauregard said. "Do, please, return at your leisure and pleasure. I believe you will always find the doors of the Arms open to you and the young Miss."

"As Mr. Haversham so informed us," Cordelia said, smiling. "It's been a pleasure."

"Pleasure is all ours, madame," Beauregard said, bowing again.

They caught the opposite bound trolley to the budding rail station end of town, stepping off outside of the Livery after it made the turn before heading to the end of what would one day be Riverside/Barton, and turning to head back uptown.

"Penny for your thoughts," Xander said, noticing her pensive expression.

"Sure they're not worth a full nickel?" Cordelia said, smiling at him. "Just thinking... I could maybe get to kind of like it back here. _If_ we, like, found out we were stuck here or something."

Xander nodded. The left corner of his lips quirked up into a half grin. "But I thought you'd, like, miss mini skirts, bustiers, halters, and kerchief tops?"

"Well," Cordelia made a dismissive gesture. "The Raging Teens are coming up, and the Roaring Twenties." When Xander raised an eyebrow, she said, "Flapper skirts and _much_ racier fashions for women. And some Edwardian stuff can be extremely elegant. Male Edwardian dress, too," she said, smiling wickedly.

"Yeah," Xander said, nodding like he had clue one what she was talking about. "And late Victorian mores don't seem to be stopping Veronique and your Aunt from being daring and looking like complete knockouts."

"Oh, gods no," Cordelia said, nodding. "I am _so_ glad you saw and insisted on that Spanish gown for me, wow."

"It'll knock Rory's eyes out at dinner," Xander said, grinning. "And I was mostly looking forward to peeling you out of it later, anyway. Thinking about getting you some of those little dance hall outfits that Brett has the girls at the Paradise wear... "

He dodged a halfhearted swat from her, laughing, Cordelia laughing as well, and then she sobered suddenly.

"Not so good an idea, maybe, doof," she said, frowning. "Don't think I'd be able to look at it for a long time without seeing Harmony lying in a pool of her own blood, and Brett... "

Xander nodded, putting his arm around her and kissing her temple. She turned toward him, tilting her face up for a real kiss, and their entry to the stables got delayed for a bit...

Oz and a tall, shaven head black man who looked to be in his early thirties were loading the last of Cordelia and Xander's gear – their saddles – into the cargo box at the back of the mountain wagon as they came inside. _Nice_ looking quartet of Bays, Xander mused. Oz looked up and nodded, giving them a small smile. The black man nodded also, coming over with his hand out.

"Gunn," he said. He looked mildly surprised when Xander took his hand without hesitation. and introduced himself, Cordelia as well, smiling broadly back at them.

"Well, damn," he said. "Beauregard _said_ both of you were good people. Guess he was right."

"We may not be _good_," Xander said, "But we like to think we're friendly."

"And we don't like to think _skin_ has anything to do with _people_," Cordelia said. "That's just so... pre-Civil _W__ar_."

Gunn snorted, grinning at her. "You'd get an argument from some."

"Bring it," Xander said. "No one can out argue Cordelia Chase." He winked at Cordy, and she returned it.

"Well, except for Dude and John T., it seems," she said.

Nod. "Everything's in except the rifles," Gunn said. "Oz and I figured Mister Harris here might have some thoughts on those."

"Xander," Xander said. "_Mister_ Harris was my dad. "And... huh. Scabbards in the back, and sling the rifles behind the seat, with the bandoliers." He nodded to Cordelia's drilling and hefted her Winchester. "We'll keep these up front for the event of any unpleasantness."

"Will do that," Gunn said. His eyes narrowed. "Are you expecting any?"

"No." Xander said.

"And if you'll excuse us," Cordelia said, "There's a pair of horsepokes over there we need to talk with."

Xander followed her gaze to where Glenn was leaning patiently against his trail saddle while Kevin fiddled with the stirrup leather on his Walker saddle.

"All right," Gunn said. "No hurry on getting it or the team back. Rory takes good care of stock."

"I'll bring it back in a couple of days," Elena's voice said from the stable doors. "No need for my niece and her beau to make a special trip, or Rory."

"Aunt Elena?" Cordelia turned, her eyebrows going up. Xander touched his hat brim, giving her a slight bow from the shoulders. "What are you doing here?" Cordelia said.

Cordelia's aunt was dressed for travel, in a fitted riding skirt, vest, high necked blouse, hat, and over jacket. Edwardian, like Cordelia had mentioned? Xander had no idea – he just knew she looked as hot as Cordelia...

He had a pretty good clue now what Cordy might look like in her late thirties or early forties and, _damn_, but he liked the mental image.

_'Yum, oh my yes,'_ Still Small said. _'Think we done picked good, dude. Whatever both of those recipes are, someone needs to start mixing them up in economy sized batches.'_

"It occurred to me that I haven't seen that old thief Rory, or Beth and Sarah either," Elena said, "Except in passing when they came to town, since I returned shortly after you two went on the run." She smiled, "Decided it was high time I did so, and came to hitch a ride with you two."

In addition to her travel wear and handbag, she had a pair of valises, and what looked to be a sixteen inch barreled version of Cordelia's Smith & Wesson with a detachable shoulder stock. And an elegant pistol belt with a holstered regular length S&W, looped over the butt stock of the Model 320 rifle...

"Well, you're definitely welcome to," Xander said, Cordelia nodding at her from beside him. "But beware that the weather might get anywhere from partly loudly to raining bullets if things go badly."

"Oh, believe me, I'm not exactly a stranger to that," Elena said, smiling. "Ask John T. about Rio Lobo sometime." She gestured, "And do go and speak with your friends. I'll watch over things here for you."

Cordelia nodded, and they headed towards Glenn and Kevin.

"All right, you two," Cordelia said as they came up. "What are you up to now?"

"Why hello, Miss Cordelia," Glenn said, smiling. "Lovely day for a ride, isn't it?"

"What he said," Kevin said, bringing the stirrup down from over the saddle.

"Uh huh."

"Suspicious little gal, isn't she?" Glenn said, looking at Xander.

"Not so little," Xander said, grinning at them.

"And not so suspicious, either," Cordelia said. "I'm just getting to know _you_ two clowns."

"Damn. She's onto us," Glenn said.

"She _might_ have a point, at that," Kevin said.

"Got business up east and north of town, towards Ojai, today," Glenn said. "Thought we might ride along until the road split at Casitas Trail."

"More the merrier," Xander said, easily. "Why, is there some attraction up that way we're unaware of? Or planned festivities?"

"Huh." Cordelia's eyes narrowed. "I noticed a curious lack of Dude and John T. out and about this morning."

"Well... " Glenn said, pushing back his hat. "They weren't kidding about being prepared for a siege. And Dude, Chance, and Chollo might be a mite unpopular this morning, in certain quarters."

Kevin nodded. "Mister Stillwell and Mister Maitland's riders blew into town in the wee hours and set up shop. They have, I understand, little groups at the roads leading in, with a few of Sheriff Bob's deputies at each."

"Uh huh. Doubt they're bothering people leaving town on legitimate business, especially if they figure they're not coming back," Glenn allowed.

"Yup. Notice that Bronco Billy's Wild West packed up early and moved on to Santa Barbara this morning," Kevin said. "They must not like the weather here."

"Saw that," Cordelia said, frowning. They had seen the show's wagons, carts, riders, and stage heading up the street on their way out while they were out shopping...

"Ayup. Exciting times," Glenn said. "Vince, though... Vin was showing the flag out at the Paradise earlier. At least at one of the poker tables, anyway."

Xander nodded. They'd seen him when they stopped by to pay their respects and ask about Brett. Not Tor, nor Heidi, but it was awfully early for those two...

"All right," he said, his eyes distant. "We need to tie off the horses to the back of the Spring Wagon, and check and make sure the big rifles are stowed properly. Then we'll be ready to head out to Rory's."

Cordelia gave him a smile, but her eyes were troubled, and Xander didn't think his were any better. His smile didn't feel any more genuine than hers looked, either.

* * *

"Whoa," Xander said quietly, easing the four Cleveland Bays back to a walk. He set the butt of the '92 Winchester against his hip, angled up. Wouldn't take much to drop the barrel level and blow someone out of a saddle...

Next to him on the seat, he saw Cordelia had done the same with her drilling, and nodded approvingly.

"Whosa a good girl!" Xander murmured, and got a heated flash of hazel eyes for his trouble.

"Best _not_ while I'm holding a gun, twerp," Cordelia said, but she was smiling...

"My oh my, what _do_ we have here," Xander said.

Elena leaned forward, looking over their seat. "Hmm. Apparently, Wilkins and his friends do have the town locked up. That's Dillon Marsh, one of Wilkins 'special executive assistants'."

"With a pair of Munroe's deputies," Cordelia said.

"Hah. And I wonder if we'd had a chance to raise a few more bandanas," Xander said, "If I'd recognize any of those others from that bunch of Maitland and Stillwell riders that hit us last night."

They continued on at a walk to the little group that was not quite pulling road block duty, Kevin high stepping his black Walker on their left, and Glenn ambling his gray to the right. Heh. Four guns, that looked like mostly cowboys more than gunfighters. And a pair of Munroe's deputies with Winchester '97 pump shotguns. And one thirtyish, dark blonde haired guy wearing faded blue Cavalry pants with suspenders, a blue checked shirt, and a long brown coat, with a tied down rig. Holding a Winchester '66 as old as Vince's but shinier against his hip, pointed up. _He_ looked like a gunsel.

And, damn. Just how many Deputies did Munroe _have_, anyway?

Lot of cheap tin in this town...

For all the real law this county seemed to have, anyway. Munroe must hand out those stars like candy. Maybe he gave out bubblegum cards with every badge.

Despite the danger of the two shotguns, Xander decided that Mister Cavalry Pants died first if it all broke sideways. He'd count on both Kev and Glenn to deal with the two deputies, along with Cordy.

Both of them, Kevin and Glenn, were riding with rifles carried lazily across their laps, anyway...

Mister Cavalry Pants broke loose from the side of the road and came trotting out to meet them, the two deputies flanking him on either side and slightly back. Nice looking sorrel paint Quarterhorse. Xander smiled and nodded to him.

It wasn't a nice smile. This one showed all the canine teeth and the hairy points on the ears.

"Howdy," Mister Cavalry Pants said as he rode up, smiling broadly. He touched his hat brim to Cordelia, and again to Elena, his smile broadening. "Miss Elena." Xander felt his own going a bit lopsided. "Nice day out."

"It is, at that," Xander said. Kevin and Glenn nodded, not saying anything.

True enough, they each watched a deputy, apparently trusting Xander and Cordelia to deal with Mister Cavalry Pants.

Xander suddenly just felt tired. Tired of stress, tired of killing, tired of watching people die, tired of this hellish town, tired of bullshit... and definitely, infinitely tired of Mayor Wilkins and his crap. And already way _past_ tired of Captain Cavalry Pants.

He suddenly no longer really gave much of a damn about sliding peacefully out of town giving the impression he was heading out and away from Wilkins' business and affairs. Oh, well, he'd never been really wedded to that mindset, anyway...

"Truly is," he said. "Might I ask what brings you folks out this way?"

"You might," Xander said, nodding. He felt his eyes narrow and his lopsided smile grow a bit broader, showing a bit more pointed tooth. Next to him, he heard Cordelia suck in a breath, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her grip on the drilling tighten fractionally.

Cavalry Pants, what was it Elena called him? Marsh? Narrowed his eyes a bit also, studying Xander with sudden interest.

"All right, then," he said, his smile also broadening a bit. "What _is_ it that brings you folks out this way on such a wonderful early afternoon?"

"Got business out that away," Xander said. "None of yours."

"Aw, now," Marsh said. "There is no call to be being like that, son."

"Man said it was none of your business, Marsh," Glenn drawled. "I'd take him at his word and vacate some roadway."

"Glenn Scott," Mister Cavalry Pants drawled back. "Am I to assume that you are questioning our rightful interest in people's entry and exit from our township?"

"You can assume whatever the hell you want to, Dillon."

"Mr. Scott," the deputy on the right, the one that Glenn had never removed his eyes from, shifted a bit uncomfortably. "We're not in the city limits now, and you're in our rightful jurisdiction. It is just a simple question the man asked."

"Deputy, as far as I'm aware, we're not breaking any laws," Glenn said. "And unless you want to charge that we are, where we're headed is none of your nor Interim Mayor Wilkins' affair."

Kevin shook his head slightly, also watching his deputy. "Be a damned shame were it to come a loud noise just because a man can't seem to go on about his legitimate business unmolested."

"And I'm feeling kinda tired of all this," Xander said, nodding. "And I'm real good at making loud noises."

Glenn smiled, no more pleasant an expression than Xander's. "Now, Dillon, you want to take these nice lawmen and clear a path? Or should we just ride through you, or possibly over, once you've hit the ground?"

Marsh stiffened, but his eyes never left Xander's. After a long, frozen moment, he smiled a bit more broadly, touched his hat again, and said, "Gentlemen, you heard the man. Clear them some road." He looked at Glenn, deliberately removing his eyes from Xander's. "I'd not pass back this way, Mr. Scott," he said.

"Expect I'll do as I need to, Mr. Marsh," Glenn said. "Assuming I have unfinished business back in town."

"You just do that." Marsh nudged his paint over and sidestepped it out of the road, the deputies doing likewise, and pulled up at the side of the road, facing them. "Y'all have a right nice day, now."

"Hoo boy," Xander heard Cordelia breathe, next to him.

Elena leaned forward again. "You certainly have a flair for the dramatic, Alejandro. But I cannot fault your taste in the enemies you choose to make."

Cordelia shook her head, looking at Xander askance from the corner of her eyes. "You make us any more, Xander, and we're going to have to hire a secretary to start taking appointments."

"Kind of reminds you of the Territories, does it?" Xander said, reminding her of their recent maybe fictional, maybe not, sojourn in Australia.

"It does," Cordelia nodded. "It really does."

"Heh. How many gunsels _does_ Wilkins have on his personal payroll, anyway?" Xander asked, once they were past and out of earshot without any shots being fired into their backs. Glenn looked over and grinned.

"You mean other than O'Toole's little bunch, now less two?" Glenn asked. "Oh, lessee... Trick, Marsh there, who's pretty good, man name 'o Trask who's real good, and a tall negro gal with a nice Stevens and a long barreled target pistol who's also pretty good."

"Another one like Trick?" Xander said, his eyebrows going down.

"Naw. Don't think so – she goes out in the sun," Glenn said. "And there's maybe three or four second stringers left after that fracas last night. Not many."

"And Fat Bob?" Cordelia said. "How many deputies?"

"Oh, I'd say about a dozen and a half to two dozen, more or less, less two from last night," Kevin called over, Glenn nodding agreement. "Munroe's been hiring them from any hangers on who can handle a gun, or looks like they can for the past year or so."

"Plus Stein and a couple of his top hands," Glenn added, "Who, I'd say are kind of iffy as to how far they'll back Munroe and Wilkins if push came to shove on anything Stein felt real strongly about."

"Huh. And the two outliers? Stillwell and Maitland?" Xander asked.

Kevin shook his head. "Maitland – the Bar-G – has thirty hands. And twenty four guns that are on the books as hands. Stillwell has..." he looked over to Kevin, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, call it a bunch of miners who can use guns, but aren't gunslingers, and a dozen or so mine security cops. And around two dozen gunsels." Kevin smiled. "Less a few in both groups now."

"Uh huh," Glenn said, "Plus the first stringers you're already familiar with – Deke Matthews, Slade, Lazenby, Sharp, and a couple of others: Alex Courtland, Josiah Hedges."

"I've heard of Hedges," Xander said, slowly.

"And Dewell McKay," Cordelia said. Xander nodded. He was oddly reluctant to really consider the soft spoken McKay one of the opposition for some reason. They'd encountered him a few times since the shoot, mostly at the Paradise, and he'd been unfailingly polite and friendly.

"I do hope you brought enough party favors, dear," Cordelia said, "In case the locals decide to throw another jamboree such as they did in the Territory."

Xander shook his head. "We're gonna need a bigger boat," he said.

Cordelia looked at him, nodding, her eyes wide. Xander laid the Model '92 back across his lap and clucked to the Bays, moving on out.

* * *

"Well, I believe that this is where we part company for now," Kevin said, once they'd reached the split for Casitas Trail and the road leading out towards Ojai. "Cordelia, Elena."

"Ma'am," Glenn said, touching his hat brim to each of them and smiling.

"Can we expect to see you two out at Rory's also?" Cordelia said, her eyebrows lifting. "To... look at some more stock?"

"Possibly so," Kevin said.

"If we do, we'll do it by way of the Cord Ranch," Glenn said. "We might have a bit of business to conduct with him."

"Vaya con dios, you two," Elena said.

"Likewise," Kevin said. "You people take care, now." He and Glenn clucked to their horses and moved off along the split.

Cordelia shook her head, smiling at their retreating backs. "Likewise, idiots."

"Good men," Elena said, "And genuinely good people."

"They are that," Xander said, starting the team up again. "And good friends, even on short acquaintance."

"Sometimes," Elena said, "You find that you've known someone your entire lives and beyond, even though you may have only met them yesterday. It happens like that, with certain people."

Cordelia nodded, looking pensive.

Xander gave her a bit, and then glanced sidelong at her, his eyebrows raised. "Nickel?" he asked.

She looked over, smiling. "Oh... " Cordelia waved vaguely. "Just thinking, doof. I suddenly realized that I – _we_ – have more _real_ friends here in the past several days than I think I _ever_ had back home in seventeen _years_. It made me thoughtful all of a sudden."

Xander could almost feel Elena's interest at the comment sharpen, but he ignored it. He nodded, starting to open his mouth.

Cordelia cut him off, shaking her head. "And no, not even you, Will, and Buffy the last year or so. Willow and Buffy were never really my friends, not really, and neither of them ever really liked me very much," Cordelia said. "Not even as little kids, in Willow's case. And you... " she shook her head, adding, "You and me have always been more than friends, even when we hated each other and fought all the time."

"Yeah," Xander said. "Not arguing. What we had was always something unique."

"Yeah," Cordelia smiled at him. "I think if we hadn't fallen apart in third grade, we'd have been like Topanga and whatshisname, on that Boy Meets World show, you know," she said, "Growing up in love and probably so _not_ waiting until we were married to do something about it." Her eyebrows drew down and she frowned at him sidelong, "And you'd _**so**_ better _not_ ever mention that to anyone, _ever_."

"Uh huh," Xander said, laughing. "Just don't want anyone to know we might not have hated each other, like, always?"

"No, jerk," Cordelia said. "I don't want anyone ever knowing I watched Boy Meets World, jeeze."

"Hah! Deal," Xander said, nodding. "Must not damage the cool factor, yup. And... We damned near did something about it that day we got stuck together on the beach."

"Oh, gods yes. Midsummer's Eve," Cordelia said. "If we hadn't, like, been _fifteen_ and terrified to go any further. But it _was_ one _hell_ of a slap slap kiss kiss makeout session."

"That it was," Xander said, noting Elena's curious expression and sharp interest. "Elena? We'll explain all of this to you and Rory, later. Let it go for now?"

"Certainly, Alejandro," Elena said. "But I must admit, you and my niece definitely have my curiosity aroused."

Cordelia looked at him curiously, an eyebrow raised. Xander shrugged, "Of anyone I know, Rory will listen and believe, no matter how outlandish it sounds. And he might not have anything to recommend, but he'll at least give some food for thought. And... I trust your aunt."

He did, he realized, suddenly. All of his memories, from home and the fake ones from here, told him that Rory in either universe, was someone he could always take anything to and be heard out. And his memories from _here_ said that Elena was the same way...

Cordelia shook her head. "I'm not arguing, Goofy. It sounds like a plan."


	18. Meanwhile, Out at the Ranch

**Chapter Seventeen: Meanwhile, Out at the Ranch...**

* * *

"_It's all very simple, or else it's all very complex, or perhaps it's neither, or both.__"_ ― Ashleigh Brilliant

* * *

Long before they actually saw Rory's place, once they passed the front gates of the Lazy-H, they began to see horse herds and herds of various cattle. According to the ongoing feed from the little Info Dump man in the back of Xander's head, he recognized pastures of Rory's Andalusians, Friesians, Morgans and Moresians, and Warlanders, as well as several herds of glossy American Cream Draft and sleek looking Percherons. And one with a small herd of some heavy built, spotted draft breed that he didn't recognize...

However questionably he'd started out, Rory Harris had turned a medium sized herd of horses and longhorns, and a middling land grant, into a seriously nice spread, Xander mused. Windmills, irrigation pumped from the meandering Blanco Lobo that wandered through the spread down from the Santa Ynez mountains, and the green of fields of unmown hay and oats off in the distance. Outbuildings, barns, and stables dotted the landscape.

The place had been headed this direction while they'd been growing up, and well on its way to this point by the time he and Cordy had left four years ago. It looked as though it had only improved in the intervening few years.

They passed by drovers and hands working, tending to, and moving stock. Occasionally, some would stop to stare as the Mountain Wagon went by, and those who recognized them (or the four trailing horses, perhaps) would shout, or wave.

As they neared the ranch, Xander suddenly slowed the rig, looking with amusement to the pastures they were passing through. Off to one side of the road leading in, he saw a small herd of baroque looking leopard spotted horses, and opposite them, a herd of cattle that wouldn't have looked out of place in modern California or Texas.

Elena leaned forward, perhaps noticing his bemused expression. "Rory's said that he's been importing some exotic horses from Europe since you've been gone, along with some cattle from India, I believe, to mix with the Shorthorns and Angus."

"I believe it," Xander said. "Those definitely look like Brahma, and damned close to Santa Gertrudis cattle over there."

They topped a small rise into a broad valley, and came up overlooking the main, walled and fenced ranch complex.

"God, I missed this place," Cordelia said. Xander nodded.

A semi-organized sprawl of outbuildings, bunkhouses, long L-shaped stables with corrals, main barn, stock barns, and feed barns, stables, poultry house, and windmills. Smoke houses and outdoor ovens and pit bar-b-ques. Dairy barn, grainery, and grain silo, big Dutch style windmill powering a mill, and even a medium sized chapel. There was the high walled five acre main ranch house compound with the low stucco and tile roofed California-Mediterranean ranch house, landscaping, and plantings. It looked like somewhere in the previous four years, Rory had added a second story over the main house. Also, a couple of rear L-shaped wings enclosing a central courtyard with gardens.

There was the water tower he and Jesse had helped – somewhat – with erecting in their early teens, with its accompanying windmill and pumps. The house with its own deep well, windmill, and cisterns, now seemingly somewhat redundant. And anything _but_: in the semi-arid SoCal desert, additional water was _never_ redundant...

Off to the left and back of the main compound, it looked like someone had leveled off the top of the low rise there, turning it into a low butte or mesa, and were in the process of erecting a new, large, adobe structure there.

The Lazy-H had the population of some small villages, between the family, hands, employees, families, and migrant workers. Hell, he'd bet there _were_ villages in SoCal right now with smaller populations. Xander shook his head, clucked his tongue, and put the team in motion again, heading down.

Once they got to the main, arched gate, a tall, weather beaten looking man came out to meet them, with a cattle dog and riding a tall, baroque looking, black and white leopard spotted horse. Xander reined in the team and waited as he opened the gate and headed over to them at a trot.

Cordelia blinked next to him, and then broke out into her widest, best Cordelia Chase grin.

"Rand? Wow," she said. "How the hell are you doing? And you too, Chieftain."

"Well, Miss Cordelia," Randall Kaine, the Lazy-H's foreman and ranch manager, and an old, old riding buddy of Rory's, pushed his hat back on his head, grinning back at her. "What an amazing sight you are. And Elena."

"Hey, Ran," Xander said, grinning as well.

"Xander," Rand nodded to him. "You owe me a stretch of back fence you never finished, youngster."

Xander laughed, suddenly delighted and feeling like ten years had dropped off of him, leaving him about twelve again. "I'll get right on it, Uncle Ran."

"Oh, hell, son," Rand said, laughing. "I done finished it myself, since you done went and turned unreliable on me."

Xander laughed again. Now, with the dubious benefit of eighteen years worth of 20th century popular culture and Hollywood, he decided that the tall, lean, lanky, rawboned and lined Rand somewhat resembled an older Randolph Scott. Just as Linc Murdock, Rory's ramrod, somewhat reminded him of a middling aged Bronson...

Chieftain, Rand's big, Gray Wolf, blue merle Aussie, and blue merle Collie cross, yawned and lay down at the feet of the tall leopard patterned horse.

"Nice horse, Rand," Cordelia said.

Rand nodded. "Knobstropp or some such. One of them newfangled European breeds that that knuckle headed uncle of yours insisted on importing from Europe. He wants to compete head to head with old man Chase more and more."

"Well, Ran, are you going to move your ancient behind and let us through?" Elena said, smiling, "Or sit there jawing all day while we die of heat stroke?"

"Ancient, is it? Now, look here, young lady," Rand said, his eyes twinkling, "Just for that, I'll have to let you through, now, won't I?"

* * *

"Well, as I live and breathe," Rory said. "Hell, I know you _said_ you'd be down in a couple of days, but I figured that given your and Cordelia's predilection for cards and the high life, once Brett showed you the wonders of the Paradise, that'd be the _last_ we'd see you outside of town."

"Gee, Rory," Cordelia said, dryly. "You make it sound like all I'm interested in is money and civilized amenities or something."

Xander choked, doing his level best not to gape at her. Cordelia flashed him a wicked glance from the corners of her eyes, apparently knowing _exactly_ what was going through his pointy little head.

"Well, just pardon hell outta me, Cordelia," Rory said, "But I did more'n half raise you from about yea high to the magnificent and materialistic critter you are today."

She grinned at him, tossing her hair, completely unrepentant.

Time for the ritual inspection of the clan, which seemed to have grown by at least four in their absence.

Aunt Bethany and Aunt Sarah had them all lined up just outside of the front veranda of Casa del Harris for the purposes.

And speaking of, but day-um. Trust Rory Harris to copy Brett Halliday and John T. together to nail down two of the most edible MILF/GILF women in Sunnydale county. Sarah Harris nee Sarah Holbrook Gray looked to Xander more than a bit like a thirtyish Linda Hamilton, possibly from about the T2 era. Minus the military look, but being almost just as buff. Hard ranch and horse work and California sun...

Heh. There was just something Biblical and more than just _almost_ scandalous for this day and time about marrying the widow of your dead brother as your second wife, common law or otherwise. Then again, Rory Harris had always paid just about as much attention to conventional mores and aesthetics as, well, modern 20th century Xander did.

And the brood. Heck, the Lazy-H had enough Harrises to constitute a small village by themselves, practically.

There was Richard Levine Harris, twelve, whom they'd seen in town on the day of the shooting match, and who'd been born about four years after Rory and Bethany had taken in Xander, Cordelia and Jesse. Xander's great grand uncle. Matthew and Maureen, the twins, dark haired and blue eyed and about ten, born a couple of years later. John Trevaine Harris, born around '91, and just as dark haired and dark eyed as Xander. Melinda Winifred, born a year later, and another blue eyed brunette and about as cute as was possible for a seven year old to be. And Robert Paul, three, who would become Xander's grandfather in another reality. Or maybe in this one...

And, of course, Jennifer Grace Harris, already two years old when Rory and Bethany had taken in Sarah Gray after Rory's younger brother Douglas had been eaten by a Grue. Or something. And Joel Douglas, born to Sarah, apparently, while Cordelia and Xander had been away...

And two new adoptees, also apparently taken in while Xander and Cordelia had been off visiting exotic locales and meeting interesting people and shooting them.

"Reckon you two might or might not remember these two from before you left," Rory said. "The two Barton kids from out towards the Cord place. We took 'em in after something happened to their folks."

Eaten by a Grue. Should be carved into a lot of headstones around here, just as 'fell on a bar-be-que fork' was in Xander and Cordelia's Sunnydale...

Terrence Barton, now Barton-Harris, Xander gathered, was a quiet, dark, good looking red headed kid of about sixteen. His sister Allison was a studious looking tomboyish red haired girl of fourteen who looked to be growing into a classic California beauty in a few more years, once the coltishness wore off and the curves hit in earnest.

"Sir," Terrence said, putting his hand out to be shaken, Xander and Cordelia doing so.

"Xander," Xander said. "Or even 'Uncle Xan'. _Sir_'s my dad. Or Rory. Especially since it looks like you're my little brother now."

Cordelia nodded next to him. "Cordelia, or Cordy. I'm not about to be 'Aunt Cordelia' or Ma'am to someone almost as old as I was when Xander and I left for parts unknown."

"Well, sure," Allison said, grinning at her. And looking hero struck. Or maybe heroine struck...

And also a whole pack of eight week old pups out of Bo and Leena, two of Rory's Australian Shepherds, wrestling and tumbling all over everyone's feet. And a whole clowder of yard cats.

"All right, now," Rory said. "All of you – back to whatever you were into before they showed up. You can meet and visit with your wayward brother and sister at dinner this evening." Everyone scattered, leaving a cloud of greetings and hellos and awws drifting behind them, except for three. "Allie, Terry, you two and Ricky start unloading this wagon and hauling the stuff up to the big guest rooms."

"We'll get the rifles and drilling, Rory," Cordelia said, "And stow them in the gun room."

"Damn, Rory," Xander said, mentally counting the vapor trails, while holding and scratching under the chin of a squirming female red tri-color pup. Add in Ran's and Murdock's broods, and... "You planning to repopulate Southern California all by yourself after the big quake finally drops San Fran and Los Angeles into the ocean?"

"Hell, someone has to," Rory said, grinning.

"And he's making a great start," Sarah said. "It's so good to see both of you back safely, you two. And you Elena – you need to visit more often."

"I know, Sarah," Elena said. "Just hard to break away from town, sometimes."

"I'm surprised you didn't bring the rest of the clan up for the shoot and wild west show and festivities," Cordelia said. She had a black tri puppy of her own, petting it and running her fingers through the luxuriant fur.

"We... generally don't take the rest of the kids into town these days," Bethany said. "Especially not the twins and the younger ones."

"Yeah," Rory said, nodding. "Not safe there. We tend to take the clan up into Ojai for shopping and outings, whenever we need a break from here."

"Huh." Xander said. "Have to do something about that, sooner or later."

He just didn't know what...

* * *

Contrary to what she'd said earlier, Cordelia hadn't worn the Spanish gown for dinner. Instead, she'd put on a white peasant blouse with a long, loose, sort of asymmetrical black skirt with ruffles along the bottom, over white underskirts, and one of those lace up medieval type vest things Xander could never remember the name of. Also in black. One of the ones that always made him want to start unlacing it... And her hair loose and bound back away from her face with a simple turquoise and native silver head band with matching bracelets and earrings, and a simple turquoise and silver pendant.

To Xander's way of thinking she looked... well, no need to be redundant. Just assume that whenever he saw her, to him at least, Cordelia always looked edible and absolutely gorgeous and leave it at that.

When he'd asked...

"Well, I don't remember Beth and Rory and Sarah ever dressing up fine or fancy for dinners here at home, even on Holidays or for company. Town, yes. Home, no. And I don't want them thinking we picked up bad habits while we were away and go down looking formal and everything." She shrugged, and said, "Within reason, the rule of thumb for courtesy is that you take your cue from your hosts, whether it's skin or formal wear."

He took his cue from Cordelia, as he was starting to more and more when it came to dressing, and opted for a pair of new, dark blue jeans, and a dark blue shirt with a black vest.

_After _distracting her enough to make them damned near not make it downstairs for dinner by kissing his way up along those bare shoulders and up the side of her neck...

* * *

Allie rolled her eyes at her brother and said, "No, I think what birdbrained here means is, how did you find out about Australia, all the way back in the Pampas in Argentina?"

Terrence "Terry" Barton-Harris, her brother, made a face at her for the 'birdbrained' crack, but nodded. "What she said."

"Ah." Xander nodded, and chewed and swallowed his bite of meat before answering. "Friend in New York saw the posting for shooters, and wired it to us. Found it waiting and not too badly dated when we got back to Buenos Aries."

"What were you doing in Argentina, anyway, Uncle Xan?" Ricky wanted to know.

"Oh, the usual," Cordelia said. "Riding, learning how to be gauchos, and handling a few local problems... "

"Mostly by shooting at them," Xander said, deadpan.

"Gauchos?"

"What they call a cowboy down in Argentina, Richard," Sarah supplied for him. "And give your Uncle and Cordelia a break so they can actually eat before their food gets cold."

Xander grinned and winked at her. Nice try, but he doubted it was going to work. He and Cordelia had immediately found themselves more than just minor celebrities the minute they'd sat down at dinner – the kids especially having saved up all the curiosity they'd been banned from pestering them with earlier.

Not that they'd necessarily traveled wider or done more than than say, Uncle Rory or Randall, maybe, but they were _new_. They'd already heard all of Rory's, Ran's, and Murdock's tales. Or so they thought...

Add a few faces here and there, and it was like in their Scriptwriter provided memories of growing up out here. Adults and kids of about twelve and over ate at the big table in the main dining room of the sprawling ranch house. Kids under that age were below the salt, or at least banished to the big dining nook by the kitchen to eat. Counting Ran and his wife and three kids, and Linc Murdock and his wife Christina, it made for a pretty huge, sprawling gathering.

Dinner was bar-be-que with fresh bread and trimmings from the pit and open air grill in the new courtyard. Steaks, ribs, chicken, chops... with wine from the Santa Ynez valley, and good beer brewed right here at Rancho Harris.

And grilled fresh bass straight from the Blanco Lobo where it meandered across the ranch, with salt and lemon. Obviously a number of the kids had been out overtime with fly rods earlier...

"We saw the big new addition on the homemade butte, Rory," Cordelia said. "Putting in a guest house?"

"Guest house, partly," Rory said. "Mostly, ranch offices and headquarters so we won't have to do business out of our front parlor here anymore." He grinned, "Keep the house here for family, friends, and visiting riffraff like you two."

Cordelia grinned at him, and Xander said, "If you don't take the brood into town, mostly, what do you do about the kids here, as far as school and stuff? Ojai is a long ride."

"Oh, we do all of that here," Bethany said. "The building next to the chapel doubles as a school house."

Sarah nodded, cutting at a steak. "Several of the women have had experience as teachers, and we order textbooks from San Francisco and Los Angeles. We get by."

"We surely do," Rory said. "Send 'em off to college later to finish them off. And get them outta our hair for awhile," he added, grinning at the kids.

"The place has grown, even just since we left," Cordelia said. Xander nodded. He was no longer even trying to distinguish between whether his memories of 'growing up here' were real or implanted. Just letting them flow and enjoying it...

"It has," Rory agreed. "Gonna be our own town, one of these days. We'll call it Rorysville."

Ran shook his head, smiling, and glanced over at Xander and Cordelia. "You say you were up in the Wyoming and Colorado country during the Johnson County War?"

When they nodded, Murdock grimaced, "Heard that got nasty. Happen to meet Tom Horn while you were there?"

"Yeah. Luckily, not professionally," Xander said. "We were mostly on the same side of the sharp end of things. Interesting man. And a good one, I think, as long as you don't get crossways of him."

Heh. Lincoln "Linc" Murdock. Polish-Czech-Tatar and Irish-Lithuanian, and married to a beautiful Swede... now _there's_ about as American as you can get. Xander grinned, mentally, to himself. Who _says_ the Wild West isn't cosmopolitan?

"Hell, you can say that about a lot of _us_," Ran said.

* * *

They retired to the gun room after, just the two of them, Rory and Elena. Rory had begged off on heading to the den and family room with Bethany and Ran and the others, allowing that Xan and Cordelia wanted to talk things over in private first and he'd fill in as needed later.

Bethany and Sarah had been surprisingly amenable to that. Although Beth did mention that if he stayed down too late, she and Sarah would start without him...

The handful of gifts they'd brought had gone over well. Nothing too fancy, just useful things the others might not have gotten themselves. Cordelia had astonished Xander by presenting him with a plain and elegant silver pocket watch on a chain.

"Now you can quit just _talking_ about needing to get yourself one," she said, smiling.

"Wow," Xander said. "When did you get this?"

"At Lee FongsFong's, while you were over browsing and discussing guns and ammo with Lee."

Now, Xander took his coffee mug and wandered over to the big end wall between the bookcases, Cordelia trailing him curiously, where the big nine foot long and nearly three hundred pound jaguar lay sprawled watching over the room. Rory had taken a huge cross section of a redwood and varnished it, and mounted it to the wall right at eye level, with Xander and Jesse's help, as a perch for the big stuffed cat.

Below the cat and its rest, there was a double gun rack extending about halfway to the floor. It held his and Cordelia's two .32 rimfire long single shot kid's rifles, as well as the Browning and Marlin .32 rimfire long lever actions they'd graduated to as they got older. Their two shotguns... And the two Winchesters in .25-20 and .32-20 they'd gotten as their first real rifles, when they were fifteen...

He'd taken his first deer with that .32-20. And looking at it, Xander realized now where he'd picked up the fondness for Schutzen stocks that had led him to accept the two big Winchesters later as table stakes in a poker game in Reno...

Xander still remembered taking the big cat with a half lucky, half skillful shot with that same '92 the next year, back in the Santa Ynez foothills. Rory had been so tickled and impressed that he'd hauled the salted hide and skull all the way to Santa Barbara on horseback to have it professionally stuffed and mounted.

The modern day Californian in Xander regretted the shoot, considering how rare the big spotted cats had gotten in later years, even if they were starting to come back into the Southwest a bit. The Westerner in him, however, reflected that it had been poaching calves and foals in the back purchase. And while the modern kid said that a few young animals were a fair exchange, the westerner and gunfighter reflected that there were a lot of years where a few head of stock could make the difference between a comfortable living, and having to tighten belts here on the ranch.

Man, he now _really_ knew what it meant, being of two minds on something... But the big cat did look just as majestic up there now as it had when they'd first set it in place.

Cordelia looked up at it, blinking. "Wow," she said. "I don't remember that."

"Happened while we were on the outs again there for awhile," Xander said. "He was taking stock from the back sections... me and Jesse tracked him for four days before we finally got a shot at him.

And, hey – his old .32-20 single action... hanging in its worn holster from one of the gun-rack hooks. And his older .32 Rimfire SAA. He couldn't remember how many thousands of hours he'd spent practicing fast draw with them, and how many thousands of reloaded rounds he'd put through the six-and-a-half inch barrels at every conceivable range, and at everything from rolled rocks to thrown dirt clods to running jack rabbits...

No wonder here him was such a good shot with a handgun.

Cordelia shook her head. "Jesse's guns?" she asked Rory.

"Been using them to teach Ricky and the twins shooting, gun care, and safety," Rory said. "Figured Jess wouldn't mind."

"Naw, he'd be thrilled," Xander said, smiling and shaking his head.

"Yeah," Cordelia said, nodding. "And honored, I'd bet."

"So, I believe the two of you had some things you wished to discuss with us," Elena said...

* * *

Their story done, they watched Rory swirl his whiskey in his glass, looking contemplative.

It had taken a while for them to lay out the entire thing for him and Elena, after they'd settled into the gun room with coffee and after dinner whiskeys. A lot of it spent explaining the 20th century they, or their alternate universe counterparts had grown up in, and the Sunnydale they'd both been rudely awakened to around their Sophomore year... filling in the gaps in the tale once they arrived here had taken considerably less time. Rory and Bethany had been around for the majority of the day of the big shoot, after all.

And Rory knew almost all of the players, except for Vince, whom he mostly knew by reputation. Dude, John T., Brett Halliday, Deke Matthews, Wilson Slade... some of them going way back to his wild days.

Rory held a glass of Irish Whiskey between his hands and rolled it lightly back and forth, gazing into it. "That's one hell of a story, Xan, Cordelia," he said, finally.

Cordelia shrugged, looking like it was done a lot more lightly than Xander could tell she felt. "Hard to believe, I know..."

Rory aimed an index finger at Cordelia. "Don't you _tell_ me what I do and do not believe, Missy," he said, and Cordelia jerked, taken aback, "You've _never_ been a liar that I've known and I've known you since you were knee high to a small filly, gal. You _telling_ me that's changed any?"

Cordelia blinked. "Uh, no sir," she said, and Xander hid a grin.

Rory grinned at her. "Well, all right, then," he said, nodding.

"There's a lot of things that add up to point to this being true," Elena said, leaning forward, and they looked at her. "Mostly, a lot of the words, expressions and phrases the two of you use since you came back to us. And the way you phrase things, especially you, Cordelia."

"Uh huh," Rory said, nodding. "I know you can pick up a lot of odd ways and speech traveling, but I doubt some of those are in use in Argentina, or down in Australia."

Xander nodded, sipping at his whiskey. "You are not wrong."

Cordelia looked contemplative, gently rubbing the ears of the sleeping red tri color pup that had taken up residence in her lap, like the huge gray marbled tabby had adopted Xander's.

"I can think of a few more, also," she said. "I can take you upstairs tomorrow, Aunt Elena, and show you my underthings. That'll do it – I looked around when we shopped in town, and there's nothing like them here and now."

"I'm not sure I need to be hearing this," Rory said, grinning.

"Oh, I could stand to hear a bit more," Xander said, getting a swat for his troubles.

Rory pointed at them. "Some things aren't any different, though. You two _still_ tease and argue and bicker and play fight like an old married couple, like you've done since you were five and six. Never could break you of that," he said, laughing.

"And tickle each other and steal kisses when no one was looking," Xander said, grinning.

"Oh, everyone always knew, Alejandro," Elena said, smiling. "There were bets as to just when you two would finally realize you didn't hate each other as much as you pretended to."

"Really?" Cordelia blinked. "Who won?"

"Hell, they're still not all settled," Rory said. "We're still waiting for the wedding. Especially considering you've been having the honeymoon already for a long time now," he said, winking at them.

"So, you say you have two sets of memories, now?" Elena said, frowning. "How does that work, exactly?"

Xander frowned, resettling the tabby so he could get up and refresh his and Cordelia's drinks. "For me, it's like there's a little Information Guy in the back of my head," he said, handing Cordelia her glass and settling back down. "I get flashes of memories dumped on me, and bits of knowledge when I need them."

"Huh. Different for me," Cordelia said, frowning. "I have, like, this set of videos in my head. Uh, movie reels... moving pictures?" She scowled at their blank expressions, trying to figure out how to explain movies and videos to people who'd never seen television...

"Don't worry about it, Cordelia," Elena said, waving it off. "Just explain it, and we'll figure it out."

"Ok," Cordelia said, shrugging. "Like, when I was explaining Xander's meltdown to Vin and John T., I could _see_ that fight in the Territory. Hear the shots and the ripping sounds of bullets going overhead, smell the gun smoke, and _feel_ how hot the rifle barrels were. And the screams and the dust and the _smell_ when Xander or I shot someone so close it left burned marks... " she drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and Xander rubbed small circles on her back until she shook her head and cleared it. "Full sense-surround," she said. "Which I know doesn't make any sense to you, but... I get some information dumps too, like Xander. And a lot of just _knowing_ things, and suddenly knowing skills and such."

"Hrmm," Xander said. "Some of that last part for me, too, the knowing and the sudden skills. Like, you – our Rory – taught us to shoot when I was a kid, but not like _this_. This is... _unnatural_, almost."

"Hell, you always had the gift, son," Rory said. "Here, anyway."

"The horse thing he had before," Cordelia said. "From when he and Jesse used to work at the riding stables in the summers, and me and Aura would go riding. Never knew until we got here just _where_ he learned some of it, though."

"I remember both," Xander said, shrugging. "Growing up here, with Jesse as my half-brother, and there, with Jesse as my best friend and blood brother. And all the other stuff, too – but distinct, like, not like being schizo."

"He means crazy," Cordelia said, "And _my_ jury is still out on that one." Xander laughed and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Well, I _know_ you two grew up out here," Rory said. "_Know_ it. Hell, I can show you the letters, some old photographs, and wires you sent me when you two were running all over after you left." He shrugged, "Hell, Xander even still swears by the old gods and goddesses still from where I wouldn't let him take the Lord's name in vain growing up, and he had to find ways around it. Stubborn little cuss."

Elena nodded. "And, you don't look seventeen like you say you are, or should be. You look in your very early twenties, like you should if you've grown up here."

"That, I can't explain," Xander said. "I just know I have an additional four years of memories I lived through at some point. But I still _feel_ seventeen, going on eighteen."

"Or seventeen, going on forty, some days," Cordelia said, and Xander nodded. "Life on the Hellmouth gets pretty intense sometimes... "

"Again, that I can't really explain," Xander said, "Except that whoever or whatever caused us to be here, did a real thorough job of making sure we'd blend in."

"I have some ideas on that," Cordelia said, looking thoughtful. She noticed Xander's raised eyebrows, and she scowled at him, "Oh please," she said, waving off his expression, "I may not have been into all the geek stuff like you and Willow, but there's _so_ nothing wrong with my _mind_, Mister Skeptical. I _did_ manage to hold down a three point eight without _looking_ like a brainiac, after all."

"True, that," he said, smiling. "I may have to take back all of the things I've ever said about you being dim and shallow over the years."

"You'd better," Cordelia told him. "Anyway, apparently, there was an us who grew up here, since you have photos and stuff like that. And an us who grew up in Sunnydale in the nineteen eighties and nineties. But we're still _us_ us, just with more memories and knowledge, and more... " she shrugged. "_More_. And a bit older, physically. What if whoever put us here just kind of... smerged us together and blended us in? If that makes any sense?"

"Huh. I followed you, I think. But... Not sure I like the sound of that," Rory said, scowling. "Sounds kind of obscene to me."

"But, if Cordy's right," Xander said, nodding, "We're still _them_. Or _us_ them... Just, older and more so. And with extra."

"Right," she said, nodding. "Like, of two minds about things now, and with added knowledge." She scowled, and added, "If anything, _we're_ the us who got killed off to make us fit here." She turned suddenly wide and frightened eyes on Xander.

He rubbed her back again, shrugging a bit helplessly.

"Well, it does make sense," Rory said, "Even if I don't like it. But not liking it _don't_ matter – you're _still_ the kids I helped raise all these years. No different than you going off for four years and coming back with a whole bunch more experience and knowledge. Which is kinda what happened, anyway."

Elena nodded. "I agree with the old horse thief here."

Cordelia blinked at him, wide eyed. Xander gave her a half smile, and said, "Told you," and she nodded.

"And I believed you," she said. "Just, wow. And, thank you. Both of you... "

"No thank you's needed, girl," Rory said. "You're _family_. All that matters. But you're welcome anyway." He grinned at her.

"You seem to have adjusted well to the times, then, both of you," Elena said, frowning. "Except for the odd turns of phrase and expressions, you act like you belong here."

Xander opened his mouth, shrugged, and closed it again. He looked at Cordelia and gave another shrug.

Cordelia scowled. "Well, I can't speak for Doofus here," she said, "But I found other me's, uh, personality and attiudes? Personality and attitudes surfacing more and more along with the memory dumps. And after that business with Corby and Jack's thugs at the bath house... " she shrugged. "I just started to _let_ them. It... seemed like _other_ me knew more about how to survive here."

Xander nodded. "Me too. Just didn't make sense to have all of that and fight it or ignore it," he said, "Not at the risk of getting Cordy killed." Xander grinned, then, "And then I started getting comfortable with being a gunfighter and hired killer."

Cordelia scowled again and thumped him one. "Stop _that_, dumbass. You are so _not_ a hired killer!"

"I am _not_ unhappy that you killed that Bill Corby," Elena said, cutting across the budding argument before it could get started. "And not just because he was involved in killing Melody and taking Aurora hostage."

Cordelia lifted her eyebrows, looking at her Aunt curiously.

Elena took a drink from her glass, and rolled it between her palms as Rory had done. "For what he wanted to do to you at the bath house, earlier. You wouldn't have known this, but I was raped when I was younger than you. It is not something you forget."

Xander blinked at her, and Cordelia said, "Wow. You're right. I never knew."

"It wasn't a story for young girls," Elena said, shrugging.

"What happened? If I can ask?"

"You're no longer a young girl," Elena said, smiling. "You're a young woman, and there's a difference." She took a deep breath, her gaze going distant... "I was nineteen, and not long married, about a year. And the Clemens brothers and their gang came by fresh from a robbery and shootout... they killed my man, and my older sisters – not your mother, Cordelia, but my other half sister. And then they took us, all of them, over and over again for hours."

"Great Zeus," Xander said, blinking. He was kind of familiar with the story, but hearing it from someone he _knew_, in the flesh, who'd actually lived it was...

Elena shrugged, "It was a long time ago, now," she said. "Andrea grabbed a knife one of them got careless with and stabbed him, and one of them shot her and killed her. And then they left. I never knew why they didn't kill me as well."

"Wow." Cordelia shook her head. "Wha-what happened?"

"Brett Halliday happened," Elena said, smiling. "I buried Andrea and our men, and the dead one they left behind. And then a couple of days later Brett rode through and happened on me. And put me back together and taught me to shoot and use a gun. And then helped me track them down and kill them. All of them. So you see," she looked at Cordelia, "I have no problems understanding why you shot that animal so coldly."

"It wasn't just the fact that he wanted to drag me off and do me, but that helped me not be really concerned over it," Cordelia said. "Xander helped me through that. It was more, kneeling over Harmony – Melody's – dead body and looking at Brett and just suddenly... I'd had _enough_."

"You did at that," Xander said. "Even impressed Dude and Vin, and I don't think they impress easily."

"Hell, he needed killing," Rory said. And that seemed to settle _that_, here. "All right," he said, looking thoughtful, "Strikes me you got three problems – "

Xander leaned forward, grateful for the change in subjects. "Only three?"

"Don't get smart with me, boy," Rory said, smiling.

Cordelia grinned and said, "Don't think that that's possible." Xander scowled at her and Rory grinned back before continuing.

"Three," Rory said, "One) Who sent you back here and changed what you say was the past world? Two) Why, and what do they want from you. Three) And just what you're gonna do about it."

Cordelia blinked again. "That's actually... a pretty good assessment."

Rory laughed. "Hell, don't look so surprised," he said, "A hoss thief doesn't live and stay unhanged long enough to turn a few head into a ranch like this, money in the bank, and a passel of kids unless he's a _smart_ hoss thief."

Xander nodded, suddenly serious. "Any suggestions, sir?" he said, leaning forward.

Rory shrugged, tipped back his glass, and got up to pour himself another whiskey. "Hell. Way I see, you only got _one_ choice. Do what I raised you both to do. Do what your folks raised you to do, back wherever."

Cordelia smiled wryly. "Bicker and insult each other and steal kisses when no one's looking like we always do?"

Rory scowled at her. "Warned you. I _will_ turn you over my knee like when you were eight, Cordy and you took your baby rifle after the roosters. 'Course, might be a mite more enjoyable now..."

Cordelia grinned, and shrugged. "Hey – they _so_ had it coming. They _attacked_ me."

"So they did," Rory said, grinning back. "Doesn't change the fact that we were eating roast chicken and fried chicken and chicken stew and chicken tacos and chicken burritos and chicken soup and chicken and dumplings for a week and a half after, until I never wanted to _see_ another chicken for awhile. Never came so close to tanning your butt in my life as I did then." He shook his head, smiling, and went on, "Naw. Let Mister Scriptwriter worry about hisownself. Take care of your own. Stand your ground if you're sure of it. Stand by your friends and do what's _right_." Rory shrugged. "Everything else will work itself out."

Cordelia took a drink, looking thoughtful. "Ride, shoot straight, and speak the truth?"

Rory nodded and said, "And kill whomever tries to stop you from doing what's right in your heart. Can't ask for more out of a man, nor a woman." He shrugged again, re-seating himself, "Anyone does, joke 'em if they can't take a humping."

Xander looked at her. "As Vin's pappy used to say: it all evens out in the wash," he said, and she laughed, nodding.

They were all quiet and thoughtful for awhile, each lost in their own thoughts. Cordelia and Xander switched to Irish coffee, sans whipped cream, kind of by mutual consent.

"I'm curious," Cordelia said, finally, taking a sip of her whiskey laced coffee. "How _did_ you come by this place, way back when?"

"Oh, hell," Rory said. "I thought I'd told you that story?"

Cordelia shrugged, just continuing to look at him curiously. She lifted an eyebrow and waited. Elena did also, smiling expectantly.

"May have, but it's been awhile," Xander said. "And wouldn't hurt to hear it again."

Rory grinned, shrugging. "Oh, God's teeth. _Long_ time ago, kids. Way back when me, and Ran, and Linc were rough riding it out in the Badlands, when I was around your age, Xan. Spent some time down in Texas after leaving Virginia at sixteen, and ended up in the Dakotas somehow, and for some reason or other. Just finished going through a few bad patches with us, Dewell McKay – he was just a kid then, a bit younger than me – and John T. and Josh Hedges. 'Bout late '81, early 82, I seem to recall... "

He got up and went to the bar, pouring himself another drink. "Anyway, all the dust settled out and somehow, I ended up with a bunch of gold and about five hundred head of beef that had no current owners attached to 'em."

"Somehow," Xander said, starting to smile.

"Hey, who's telling this, you 'er me?" Rory came back and sat down in his arm chair. "So, Ran and Linc and I, we ran them up into Montana and traded them to the Nez Perce for a bunch of Appaloosa. Mostly mares and fillies, with a real good stud and a few blooded colts. And headed them down from there through Montana. Ended up in Southwestern Wyoming with a bunch of guns we acquired somehow along the way, and traded _those_ for a bunch of blooded Quarterhorses and some shorthorns out in Utah from some Mormon ranchers."

Cordelia laughed, shaking her head. "Ok, I so _know_ there just has to be a story behind those owner-less cows and those guns," she said.

"Maybe so," Rory allowed, grinning. "But you'll never hear it, Missy. Not for sensitive feminine ears." He laughed, and said, "Ended up bringing the whole mess down to here, where I knew Andrew – your old man, Xander – was running around with old Harald Bartlett Chase's bastard great grandwhelp... oops, sorry Cordy."

"Don't sweat it," Cordelia said, waving it off, while trying not to choke from laughing. "I so _know_ what my relationship to the Chase family is here. Black sheep's lamb, or something like that."

"Yeah, pretty much," Rory said, nodding. "And old Douglas Burroughs just wasn't real forgiving of by blows and the offspring thereof, not even his own. And God knows _he_ left 'em scattered all over California as a kid. Anyway, we came back down through Nevada and Arizona way. And _somehow_, we just kept picking up horses and cows and guns from people who didn't need 'em anymore. Anyway," he shrugged, "Got down here and I picked up a nice little land grant, and added to it with a little card playing, and started building a place, and breeding Nez Perce and Quarter Horses. Met Bethany a bit later on, and... and one thing happened after another, and well, here we are."

"And ended up adopting me and Cordy and Jesse after our folks died," Xander said, nodding.

"And history was made, yup," Rory said. "Hell, someone had to, and you were _family_, boy. You too, Cordy."

He _knew_ that part of the story, Xander thought. So did Cordy...

His dad and Cordelia's dad had signed on as California Rangers, more or less fresh out of their stints in the army. His and Jesse's mom, Jenevieve, had died in childbirth when he was about three or a bit less, having his little brother or sister and her third child. Cordelia's mom had disappeared abruptly when she was about three and a half... which around Sunnydale, he knew, pretty much added up to 'she was et by a Grue'.

And about then, Andrew Harris and Thomas Chase (illegitimate) had had a run in with the five Blakely brothers and part of Clan O'Toole up around Monterey, when the Blakely's and the six O'Toole brothers and cousins were in the middle of shooting up the place after a botched bank robbery. Leaving a five almost six year old Cordelia, a six year old him, and a seven plus odd year old Jesse alone with no one except for Cordelia's mother's twenty three year old half-sister, Elena Consuela Alonza de la Rosa. Grand Aunt Elena.

And naturally, Rory had taken them all in on his new spread.

_After_ he, Rand, and Murdock, just the three of them, had gone in and wiped out the Blakely's, and that branch of the O'Toole clan. Along with a few other assorted desperadoes, back in the Santa Ynez mountains. Just the three of them...

And come riding back out with the recovered money, a whole string of horses and assorted cattle, and seventeen bodies draped over saddles. And a few bullet holes in various portions of their anatomies, here and there.

Xander didn't much wonder why men like John T. Chance, Dude, Brett Halliday, and McKay liked and respected his uncle.

Damn. Info Dump guy had decided to hit Xander with a sudden _flood_ of memory and data. Hell, no wonder Bujold had called it a memory cascade. And damn – no wonder that, however she might feel about _Xander_ in their turbulent relationship, Cordelia of here practically hero-worshiped Rory. Going by that little speech she'd hit him with at the hotel that one evening, he practically _defined_ what constituted a 'real' man to Cordelia.

You took care of your own, and the people you love.

You did what you had to do, no matter what you felt about it.

You just went on. Scared had nothing to do with it. Like and dislike had nothing to do with it.

You protected your friends and your family, no matter whether you liked them or not. No matter what you had to do to do it.

Hell. He practically defined what _Xander_ considered a man, real or otherwise, in _any_ universe.

"So, between your winnings, earnings, and Cordelia's gambling money from betting on you, how much you think you got all told," Rory asked, breaking Xander's train of thought.

"Huh. Well, let's see," Xander said, leaning back and sipping at his Irish whiskey appreciatively. "Minus what we've spent... Two thousand in winnings from the shoot, plus about five thousand from the poker tables. And Cordy won almost five thousand at the shoot from various bets."

"No _almost _to it, Doof," Cordelia said, smiling.

"Ok," Xander nodded, with a small shrug, "Plus most of the five thousand from Australia – about four and a half, maybe – and some in the bank in New York. Assuming Tammany hasn't figured out a way to steal it. And some in the bank in New Orleans. Both of which we can draw on as needed."

"All right," Rory said. "Hell, you two have as much or more than I did when I started the Lazy-H here."

"Minus all the ownerless cattle and horses and guns," Cordelia said, grinning at him.

"You're just not gonna let that go, are you?" Rory said, grinning back.

"Oh, hell no," Cordelia said, shaking her head. "My adopted uncle the horse thief, rustler, and infamous outlaw? I want all the juicy details for my memoirs."

"Well, you'll probably rectify that lack by the time this business with Wilkins is done," Elena said, smiling at both of them. "I'd imagine there will be plenty of firearms and horses around for the taking once all the dust settles."

"You're probably right, Aunt Elena," Xander said, smiling. "Kevin already acquired himself a fine new rifle at that little party at the Double Eagle. And me and Vin got a pair of fancy new pistols out of the deal."

"Hah. Point being," Rory said, "You have enough to pick up a real nice spread out in the Silverado country, or up in Montana or Wyoming, whatever you decide to do."

"We do at that," Xander said, exchanging looks with Cordelia. He knew that she, like himself, was thinking about the Sunnydale – the _world – _they'd left behind, and whether they'd ever make it back to the late 20th century. And how it might not be the worst thing imaginable, if they _were_ permanently stuck in this era...

"We do at that,"Cordelia echoed, nodding.

* * *

.


	19. It Can't Rain All the Time

**Chapter ****Eighteen: ****It Can't Rain All the Time... (But it sure can rain an awful lot)**

* * *

"_Some of my troubles are so familiar, I know them by their first names.__"_ ― Ashleigh Brilliant

* * *

Upstairs in the guest bedroom after the long talk with Rory and Elena had wound down, finally. Xander wondered if Bethany and Sarah really _had_ started without Rory or not, and grinned.

"What are you grinning about, Hyena Boy?" Cordelia asked from where she was sitting at the vanity, brushing out her hair. He told her, and she laughed, and said, "Pervert."

"Hey. Guy," Xander said. "Goes with the territory."

Cordelia nodded, not disagreeing with him. She frowned slightly. "Whatever happened to this place," she asked, carefully, "You know, back in future Sunnydale?"

"You're assuming it ever existed back in our Sunnydale?"

"Please give me some credit for brains, Xander," Cordelia said, seriously. "And a memory that stretches back farther than six months, please. I remember Rory talking about some of the family history back when we were little kids and still friends."

"You're right, Cordy. Sorry," Xander said. She smiled acceptance of the apology, and the concession, and he went on. "Granddad Richard – Ricky – lost the place finally when some of Richard Wilkins the Second's cronies took over the bank, around World War II. Otherwise, Rory would have inherited it, and we'd have grown up out here on weekends of the Fourth, and the summers between first and second, and second and third grade. In addition to your lake house, of course... "

"Crap." Cordelia scowled. "Wilkins again. Is this the same Wilkins that's the once and every other Mayor in our Sunnydale?"

Xander spread his hands, and shrugged. "No clue, Cordy. They do have a real strong family resemblance, don't they?"

"No. More than that," she said, shaking her head. "It's like they're twins, Xander. Not grandson and grandfather. No one has _that_ strong a family resemblance – not even me and my cousin Wendie. This is more like: separated at birth stuff."

"Huh. Have to check into that, when we get back."

"Yeah. Or, if," Cordelia said.

"You almost sound as if you don't want to go back," Xander said. His turn to frown, thoughtfully.

"Would it bother you if I said there's a part of me that really doesn't?" Cordelia asked, her eyes searching his face. "I mean: real friends. Family – I can't remember a time when Rory never had time for us, or just gave us money instead of time and attention and affection. Sometimes gruff affection, but... " she shook her head, "Or, at least, here me can't."

Xander nodded. "And no, that doesn't bother me. Part of me feels the same way. And, no – I don't think a lot you can say along those lines would bother me, Cordy. Home is where you are. All the rest is just stuff and gadgets." He shrugged, adding, "And people, to some extent."

"Wow." Cordelia's eyes searched his face again. "We have come a long way, haven't we?"

"And in a short time," Xander said, smiling.

She cocked her head, smiling. "Been a pretty intense five or six days, huh?"

"That all it's been?" Xander scowled.

"Yup." Cordelia nodded. "Amazing, huh?"

"Yeah," Xander said, smiling back. "Anyway, as far as losing the family place here, well, we're going to have to make sure that doesn't happen, somehow, if we can."

She nodded. "Well, assuming this is, like, the past past, and we didn't get shunted into some alternate universe past, getting rid of Wilkins will help." Cordelia frowned, and added, "And even if it is an alternate universe, it'll help here."

"Wow. You've gotten cold blooded," Xander said, blinking. "So matter of fact about that."

"Oh, please. Women are more ruthless than men," Cordelia said, laughing softly. "On some things, anyway. Besides, whatever our Wilkins is or isn't, _this_ one is a monster."

"Yeah. Like I said: Mayor MacRattlesnake-eyes."

"Speaking of ruthless," Cordelia said, "You're planning to kill Jack and Kyle, aren't you?"

"What makes you say that?" Xander said, carefully, searching her eyes this time.

"Oh, please. I know you, dumbass," Cordelia said. "Have since we were little kids in both worlds. There's some things that are, like, absolutes. Sun comes up, Buffy kills vampires unless she's sleeping with them, and you only threaten Xander Harris' friends and loved ones so many times before there's just no more of that."

"Hah, to the Buffy thing. And, yeah," Xander said. "Jack and Kyle have already hit my limit. All I need is a decent excuse."

"Pretty sure that that's only a matter of time," Cordelia said. She set the brush aside, and stood up and stretched, Xander watching her appreciatively.

He'd already stripped down to boxers, and while he watched, she laced and unbuttoned and removed the Renn Faire looking vest thingy, and her blouse, and slipped out of the long skirt. Bodice, that was it... There was nothing underneath except for a lacy black bra, and a matching pair of black, lacy, boy shorts panties.

She came over and joined him on the bed, and molded herself into his left side as he lay back.

"I'm surprised you're not all over me all ready," she said, nestled into the crook of his left arm, her right hand playing idly along his chest. A substantial armful of girl.

He liked that about her. Along with a lot of other stuff.

"Oh," Xander trailed fingertips along her cheek, and rubbed the ball of his thumb across her lips. He kissed her gently and then pulled back. "We have all night. Thought I'd take my time tonight... and enjoy my girl properly."

"You mean you've been enjoying me improperly before?" Cordelia grinned at him. "And, wow. I am _so_ glad that whoever packed for us remembered to send lots of birth control pills. Now I'm starting to wish for a year or more's supply... "

* * *

"So, how long _have_ you known John T., Aunt Elena," Cordelia was asking. "Or was I just hallucinating that you and he seemed awfully familiar with each other at Brett's?"

"And just _awful_ friendly like," Xander said, smirking. "As Heidi would say."

Evening of their third day here, and they were relaxing in the gun room with Irish Coffee. Him and Cordy, Rory, Bethany, and Sarah, Elena, Randall, Murdock, and a few of the older kids. Maybe second and a half day – depending on how you counted it.

Long couple of days. Even sleeping in past breakfast, him and Cordy, life started early on a working ranch. Still daylight outside, here and now...

Glenn and Kevin had stopped by in the afternoon, yesterday, to look over some stock and talk to Rory for awhile, after he and Cordelia had gotten the grand tour all morning. They'd been heading back to Sunnydale early that evening... And Elena was planning to take the wagon and go back tomorrow.

Xander and Cordelia still hadn't quite decided on just what to do next. Although, in the back of both of their minds, they knew this was just an intermission. They'd be headed back to the mess in Sunnydale sooner or later.

Sometimes, life just worked that way. Fate had nothing to do with it.

"Oh, you hush, Alejandro," Elena said, to chuckles from around the room. "It's not like you and my Cordelia have a great deal of room to talk." She smiled, looking contemplative for a moment. "Oh, it was after you got old enough, Cordelia, for me to start leaving you with Rory and Beth, or other family, while I started to travel to work again. San Saba, the first time... I was helping a friend run some guns, and John T. managed to fall afoul of some of the same people that the guns were being bought to use against. Such a man, that one... "

She paused, and took a sip of her whiskey. "And then in San Francisco, and a few other places. Mescalero. And then in Rio Bravo, where he and some old army friends were dealing with a situation not too dissimilar to this. We just kept crossing paths, it seemed, over the years."

Xander tuned out the little voice playing commentary and providing information and background, and just relaxed and enjoyed the talk, the companionship, and the atmosphere. One arm around Cordelia, and a mug of good coffee with a dash of good whiskey...

The ruckus at the front caught everyone by surprise. Rory, Ran, and his ramrod went to see what the problem was.

And Xander found himself by the gun rack with both pistols out of their holsters and in his hands, not quite knowing how he'd gotten there.

He and Cordelia looked at each other curiously, listening to the raised voices from the front, and followed along to see what the situation was. Cordelia grabbed her pistol belt and Smith & Wessons as they headed up there.

Xander uncocked the revolvers as Rory came back in from the foyer into the living room, half supporting a wounded and bleeding Tor Hauer, with Heidi under Tor's other shoulder and carrying his cut down rifle in her left hand.

Xander looked at them. "The hell?"

Rory called out, "Cordelia, Bethany: clear off the table and let's get him up and across it. Sarah, go start some water." Cordelia and Beth hustled to do that as Xander glanced to make sure Rand and Linc went to check outside the front door behind them, closing it behind themselves as they headed out.

Heidi grunted as she and Rory moved a quietly groaning and mostly out of it Tor into the dining room. "O'Toole went nuts and started laying into us. Kyle backed him," she said, succinctly.

Xander sighed. "Because you and Tor backed us against Slade and his guys against Jack's say so," he said, his expression feeling grim.

Heidi and Rory laid the groaning Tor on the dining room table, Rory pulling his shirt away to examine the wounds.

Heidi nodded, blood all over the side of her shirt. "Right. Tor told him off and Jack drew and shot him. I shot and winged Rhonda when she pulled out a gun." She paused, and said, "Then emptied my pistol at the others and grabbed Tor and got out of there while everyone was scattering and diving to the floor."

Cordelia frowned. "But – why bring him here?" she asked.

"Nowhere else to go, Cordy."

Rory straightened up from helping Bethany examine Tor's wounds. "Ricky. Get a horse and ride like hell to the Cord place and get Elli and bring her back." He paused, thinking. "Take Smoky – he's fastest. And a remount."

"I'll go with," Terrence said, "And make sure nothing happens to him."

"Good. Take Golden Boy," Rory said, nodding. "And a rifle."

"Yes sir." Terry left the room after picking up a carbine and a box of cartridges, following Richard, with Allison trailing behind them.

Heidi frowned "Shouldn't he get a doctor?"

Rory shook his head. "Should've kept him in town and gone to Dude's for that. Nearest Doc's in Ojai, or Sunnydale. Hauer won't last that long." He paused and added, "'Sides – Elli has medical training. They just won't let a woman doc set up practice here."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, sighing. "Damned sexism."

Heidi said, carefully, "Ianara Gutierrez never made it back to the hotel that night, either."

"Marshall Dude and the others?"

"Still holed up in the Marshall's office," Heidi said. "Vince joins them on occasion, but he's still able to roam a bit. Stillwell and Maitland's men control most of the place, or think they do."

Xander felt the icy hand of fate grip him gently by the back of the neck again, and shake him. He headed back to the gun room, and crossed to the pegs by the door and took down his gunbelt, holstering the pistols and beginning to buckle the belt around his hips.

Cordelia followed him in, frowning and looking pensive and slightly alarmed. "Wait – where the _hell_ do you think you're going?"

Xander picked up his Model '86 and started loading it. "Town," he said, grimly.

Cordelia said, now definitely looking alarmed, "Oh, no you _so_ are _not_!"

"Mrrpmh!" Xander crossed the room and swept her in, kissing hell out of her, deeply.

"So am too," he said. He went back and picked up the rifle scabbards, sliding the Winchester '86 into one, and then checking over and sheathing the long rifle.. "Think Jack and Kyle just gave me that reason. Wilkins, too."

"Sigh. Wait," Cordelia said. She headed to the rack also and took down her own rifle and drilling.

"_You_ are _not_ going." Xander glared at her.

Cordelia glared back, arching an eyebrow. "Yeah? And how do you intend to _stop_ me, Goofy?"

Sigh. "You're saddling your own damned horse," Xander said. He headed out of the gun room, Cordelia following.

Heidi looked up from bending over Tor. "Wait. Let me have a fresh horse, and I'll come with to back you," she said.

Xander shook his head. "No. You stay and help guard my Aunt and Uncle and their family. In case anyone followed you here."

Heidi glared at him, then slumped. "Yeah yeah. You're right, boss."

"Kind of surprised that Jack and Kyle aren't dead already," Cordelia said, looking to where the groaning Tor was laid out, and glancing pointedly at Heidi's weapons.

Heidi made a face, but met Cordelia's eyes evenly. "Been friends with Kyle and Rhonda since we were kids, Cordy. And I've known Jack since we were around eleven," she said. "Lot harder to shoot down your friends for keeps than you'd think."

Xander nodded, his face expressionless. "Don't think I'll have that problem," he said, and Cordelia nodded as well, her eyes hard.

"I'll get Rand to harness up the team," Elena said. "I'll take the wagon in now – you might need the distraction to get past the checkpoint."

Xander smiled, hoisting the heavy Winchester 1885 in its scabbard. "Checkpoint won't be much of a problem, needs be." He glanced out a window... "We should be able to hit the edge of town right at about twilight, if we leave soon."

Bethany frowned and looked concerned. "You three be careful," she said.

"Aunt Bethany?" Xander said. "Think this just went past the careful stage," he paused and added, "It's all the way into 'let's get dangerous' territory now."

* * *

About an hour before early dusk, or just pre-sunset. The sun was just starting to dip, beginning to paint the horizon with the first hints of an orange glow. Plenty of light to shoot by, if needed.

Getting past Munroe's checkpoint by cutting through someone's land and going around would have been child's play. It _w__as_ child's play, except they hadn't gone all the way past.

They'd cut over to Sundowner and taken it in, rather than the road past where Captain Cavalry Pants had set up. More open land to the side of the road leading in this way. He and Cordelia had stopped and ground hitched the big Appaloosa and her palomino, Keanu, and moved up to the crest of a rise overlooking the semi roadblock. Just in case they gave Elena any problems...

_'Friggin' amateurs,'_ a voice that sounded an awful lot like Soldier Boy said in the back of Xander's mind.

Bad for them. Good for us. Xander gave a mental shrug, and pulled up the tang sight on the Model '86, squinting at the men gathered around the road, and estimating the distance. He made a small adjustment.

About two hundred and seventy-five yards, he figured. Could have eased in closer, as careless as these guys were, but why bother?

He laid the lever action aside, briefly, and passed the Winchester 1885 to Cordelia, a round already in the breech and the tang sight already adjusted. She nodded, her lips a thin, grim line across her mouth, and a pair of binoculars in her hands. Her own rifle was set beside her...

Elena drew the Mountain Wagon to a halt as one of the men, a Sheriff's Deputy by the look of him, stepped out into the road and held up a hand to stop her.

Heh. These guys were nice, polite, and professional, then Elena drove on and he and Cordy eased back down and worked their way around. Caught up with Elena outside of town, unhitched their other two mounts from the back of the wagon, and headed in to Dude's by way of the Paradise Saloon.

And if not...

Xander shrugged again, mentally. Then he and Cordy eased back down and worked their way around. Caught up with Elena outside of town, unhitched their other two mounts from the back of the wagon, and headed in to Dude's by way of the Paradise.

Things just got a little bit noisy, first. And a little abrupt.

Made him no real never mind, he wasn't all that surprised to discover. Amazing how fast the thin veneer of civilization could drop away, leaving the unreconstructed barbarian behind.

Another of the men moved up along with the deputy, alongside the wagon, slapping the deputy on one shoulder. After a moment, there was a flat clap of sound as Elena's pistol went off, and the deputy staggered back.

Must've decided to get frisky. And unprofessional. So be it.

"Spot for me," he said. Xander raised the '86 and squeezed off his first round, working the lever smoothly.

.

"Rifle me," Xander said, setting the '86 to one side. She passed him the long barreled '85, and he came up to one knee tracking the last guy smoothly as he clicked the set trigger.

This one had bolted and launched himself into the saddle of one of the standing horses when his two buddies hit the ground, spurring it and pelting hell bent for leather towards town. Nice buckskin. Fast quarterhorse. Wasn't going to help.

The big rifle bucked against his shoulder, and a small figure threw up its arms around three hundred and fifty yards away, falling down and away. The buckskin went into a bucking and crow hopping frenzy, bolting off finally into the open land to one side, away from town. It pulled up a few hundred yards off, stopping to look back curiously.

"Nice shot," Cordelia said, accepting the rifle back as she stood up, holding her own.

"Thanks."

Nothing but recoil. And not the least bit mechanical. Just varmint control... These guys decided they weren't human once they determined to not just let the wagon past without molesting the driver. No – they'd made _that_ decision when they'd decided to side with a grinning monster against the people they were supposed to protect. And once you do that, someone might just decide to take exception.

Someone like, well, him.

And you get to decide to walk through that door as far as you care to, when they do that. Entirely their choice.

Cordelia looked him over searchingly for a long moment, especially the eyes. Evidently, what she found there satisfied her, for she nodded.

"Let's go into town, dear," Cordelia said. "I'd like to do some shopping and take in a show."

* * *

.


	20. A Tin Star With a Gunslinger

**Chapter Nineteen: A Tin Star With a Gunslinger Pinned to it...**

* * *

"_Your duty as an honest citizen of Bordertown is to _deplore_ evil. You are not obliged to tie a cape over your shoulders and search the alleys for it.__"_ ― Tick-Tick (from 'Finder')

* * *

They'd made it to the Marshall's office safely enough, after seeing Elena to the Paradise. Xander had taken a look at the steeple cupola on the Episcopalian church, and the bell tower at the mission, and decided to keep to the back streets and alleyways.

Not much could be done about line of sight on the way in from the road stop, but wah. Paranoia _could_ be overdone. Maybe.

Xander pulled at the bell cord at the back gate, and after a bit, Chollo came to let them in. He didn't look too terribly surprised to see them. Just grinned and touched his hat brim to Cordelia.

"Ma'am." Chollo laughed and took their reins. "Come to give Marshall Dude the what for again?"

"Why? Does he need one?" Cordelia said, grinning back.

"Wouldn't have any opinion about that," Chollo said. "I'll just put these away for you."

Dude stared at them disgustedly when they slid into the main office.

"Chollo is putting our horses in your little stable," Cordelia said, setting her drilling and Winchester down by the doorway.

Xander nodded. "I'll give them a rubdown and some feed here in a bit."

"Thought I told you to take your pretty girl home to the Lazy-H and stay the hell out of this," Dude said, giving them a pained look.

Xander shrugged. "Someone made it so I couldn't."

Chance shook his head, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "This ain't your fight, son."

"One: I'm not your son," Xander said, shaking his head in return. "Two: I didn't realize this fight belonged to anyone. I thought it was addressed to 'to whom it may concern'."

Vince smirked, and said, "Think he's got you there."

Cordelia pointed at Vince. "You _so_ told _him_ to stay out of it also."

Vince shrugged. "Never was any good at doing what I was told."

Music started up from the Cantina down the street, and everyone looked to the front, Dude and Chance with annoyed expressions.

Xander frowned and looked over at Dude, and said, "That's the Deguello, isn't it?"

"Yup," Chance said.

Dude rolled his eyes. "Brings back memories."

Chance smiled at him. "Mostly bad ones."

Dude nodded. "Yup."

Vince frowned, and started rolling a cigarette, "They've been playing it over and over for awhile now." (beat) "Think they're trying to spook us."

Cordelia scowled at him. "Is it working?"

Vince shrugged, and said, "Not so as you'd notice."

Xander looked around. "Ok, so, where's Kevin and Glenn?"

"They're over to the Paradise, I think," Dude said. "Any problem at the roadblock coming in?"

"Not so as you'd notice," Xander said, and Cordelia elbowed him in the side.

"A couple of them decided to take some liberties with Elena," Cordelia said. "They won't be doing that again. So, no real problems. For us."

"Oh, yeah, like _your_ version was better than mine," Xander said, and got another elbow for his troubles.

Cordelia huffed, rolled her eyes, and apparently decided to ignore him. She looked to Dude and John T. and asked, "Ok, so, what's been going on while we were out visiting?"

Dude filled them in, ending with, "Way I see it, we maybe have another several days to a week before the Federal and State Marshals get in from Sacramento. Depending on how long it takes someone there to make up their minds, and how much pull Wilkins and Stillwell and Maitland have in the Governor's office."

"I figure closer to ten days," Chance said. "Wheels grind slow until they get going good."

"Wait. So _that's_ really the _plan_?" Cordelia said, blinking. "We're just going to hole up in this hideous example of Mission Revival architecture and _wait_ for the Federal Marshall from Sacramento? And the Rangers?"

Duke gave her a bemused look. "You have a better one?"

Cordelia frowned "Well, you're all gunfighters, right? Even idiot-boy here," she said, waving at Xander. "Why not just go out and shoot them?"

Chance shook his head, and said dryly. "In case you hadn't noticed, little Missy, there's kind of a lot _more_ of _them_ than there are of _us_."

Dude smirked. "_And_ they have the County Sheriff and the Mayor and town council backing them."

Vince shrugged. "Faced worse odds, once." Everyone looked over at him.

"Down in Mexico," he said, lighting his cigarette. "Me and Kris Adamson, and five others against a whole crowd of fifty some odd banditos. Plus the kid." (beat) "We won."

Cordelia eyed him suspiciously. "Oh? And how many of you made it out alive?"

Dude nodded, saying dryly, "What she said."

Vince shrugged. "Two, plus the kid." Another beat and he smiled slightly, "But since I was one of the two, that was all of the important ones."

Xander, shrugged, also. "Well, I intend to cut the odds a bit more," he said. "Where's Jack O'Toole and Kyle DuFours?"

Dude looked over at him, and said, "Holed up at the hotel, I suspect, with what's left of Wilkins' men."

Chance nodded. "All three or four of 'em."

Xander nodded, and took out one pistol to check over the loads. "They shot Tor Hauer for siding with me and Cordy."

"Hang on. I'll go with," Vince said, picking up his hat and gunbelt from the table.

"Thanks, Vin."

"No problem," Vince said. "I kind of liked Hauer and that Heidi girl."

"Oh, Tor will probably survive," Cordelia said, "Just shot up a bit. But he's tough." Her expression said 'I hope', rather than the certainty in her voice.

"Crap," Dude said, sighing and shaking his head. He gave them both a disgusted look, adding, "Which means there'll be no talking you out of this from here on in, either of you."

"Nope."

Dude shook his head, sighing heavily. "Oh, hell. Gonna do this, let's do it right," he said, rummaging in the top drawer of his desk. He pulled out a handful of tin and tossed it on the desktop to reveal several badges. "I'll set aside a couple for Glenn and Kevin when they come in."

Xander smiled. "_Badges_? We doan need no stanking _badges_." Cordelia swatted him, laughing.

Dude looked up at him, scowling. "You do if you're going to mix into this fight."

Cordelia shrugged, looking over at him. "Might as well, Lopealong. You always wanted to be Roy Rogers, anyway."

Dude shook his head and ignored the repartee. "Just remember: it's not just a badge. It's a badge and forty dollars a month and found."

Chance sipped his coffee, and said, "And a real decent chance to not live out the week."

Dude started tossing badges to people. Xander caught his and looked at it curiously.

Plain six pointed star in a circle, and he was wrong: not tin, too heavy. Probably sterling silver, maybe. With '***** City of Sunnydale – Deputy Marshall ***** To Keep and Uphold *****' around the inside of the circle.

"Gee, thanks," Cordelia said. "That's encouraging." Chance smiled sourly at her, and saluted with his coffee cup.

"You rather have it straight?" he said, "Or all sugar coated, Missy?"

Vince caught his badge and looked at it. "Huh. Not quite what I had in mind when I first got here."

Chance looked at him curiously. "Oh? How's that?"

"Came here to rob the Silverlode mining payroll," Vince said, smiling slightly. "Not take up an honest day's work." (beat) "Just don't seem right, somehow."

Dude rolled his eyes. "Well, if it's against your fine principles... "

Vince shrugged, waving it off, and put on the badge. "Said it wasn't right. Didn't say it was against my principles."

Cordelia frowned at Dude. "Hey – where's mine?"

"Hold on, now," Chance said, scowling, "We are _not_ deputizing any women."

Cordelia scowled back and raised him a glare, hands on her hips. "Oh, yeah? And why not? I can shoot as good as any one of you!" She paused, looking thoughtful, "Except for maybe Vin and goof-boy here."

Chance glared back. "Because it's not _right_, that's why."

Xander shook his head, keeping his face studiously blank. "Give it up, John T.. Just assume Women's Lib hit early here and move on."

Cordelia's eyes flashed and she said, hotly, "I am _so_ going to watch Xander's back and make sure it doesn't sprout bullet holes. I can do it _with_ a badge or not!"

Xander sighed "Honestly, give it up. Odds of winning an argument with Cordelia _twice_ are like those of melting a glacier with a magnifying glass." (beat) "On a cloudy day." Cordelia swatted him, still scowling at John T..

Dude sighed heavily and tossed Cordelia a badge, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine!" he said, holding up a hand to stop the argument, "Raise your right hands and swear... "

Vince raised his right hand. "Damn!"

Xander smirked at him, grinning, and raised his own hand, as did a smiling Cordelia.

Dude glared at both of them, "Very good." (beat) "Ok, smart ass. Now. Repeat after me... "

Chollo came back in just before the swearing in started, and he nodded to Xander. "Rubbed your horses down after unsaddling them, and gave them feedbags."

"Thanks."

He looked over at Cordelia, taking in the badge, and whistled softly. "See? Said the quality of Deputy had improved around here while I was gone."

They did the repeating, and Dude shook his head again. "Hope you know what you've gotten yourselves into here," he said. He looked at Xander, "You ever wear one of those before?"

"Was an Arizona Ranger briefly, after leaving here," Xander said, shrugging. He pinned the badge on his vest. "Had a difference of opinions with the Ranger captain on how we did things."

"And he was a peace officer in New York City for awhile," Cordelia said, "While we were there." Xander nodded.

"Oh? And how did that work out?" John T. asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Had a difference of opinion with the department, and we parted ways after a few months," Xander said. "I didn't like the corruption in City Hall, the Mayor's office, the Department, and Tammany. They did." He smiled, and added, "Besides, if you're going to be corrupt in New York, you make a lot more money not wearing a badge."

Nod. "I plan on being able to buy one of those new horseless carriages after a month here," Cordelia said, deadpan.

Dude laughed, and shook his head, "Not with Sheriff Bob having all the profitable corruption locked down here, you won't," he said.

"Oh, that _so_ won't be a problem," Cordelia said, waving airily, "After I shoot him."

"Down, girl," Xander said, grinning at her, "The nice men here don't know when you're joking like I do." He blinked at her, and added, "You _are_ joking, right?"

"Not so as you'd notice, dear."

Xander's grin went lopsided at her, and he nodded, and added as an aside to Dude, "Older officer didn't care for my opinions on the whole corruption thing. There's probably still paper on me there under Alexander McNally. We left the next day for Virginia."

"Well, I'll not worry overmuch about that," Dude said, smiling. "But you break _my_ rules, and I'll make sure you hang."

"Which are?" Cordelia raised an eyebrow.

"Don't bully, harm or steal from the people you swore to protect, and make sure you do your best to protect them."

When nothing more was forthcoming after a long moment, Cordelia nodded. "I can live with that," she said, and Xander nodded as well. Plain and simple and to the point.

Cordelia had worn a long, dark, split riding skirt with the black bodice over a bloused sleeve wine red shirt, and a long, dark cream colored lightweight coat. She put her right foot up on a nearby chair and checked the stag handled boot knife in her boot, and then another, similar one strapped to her left forearm. She pinned her badge onto her bodice front, and picked up her drilling.

Glancing at the clock on the bookcase, Xander picked up his Model '86. "All right," he said. "It's time Froggy went a courtin'."

* * *

Vince looked thoughtful, and glanced up and across the street, then back the other direction. "You know, occurs to me that that bell tower makes a dandy sharpshooter vantage point," he said.

Xander frowned "Hrmm. Me too, now that you mention it. And that church steeple as well." Vince nodded, still looking thoughtful.

Vince frowned, and added, "_And_ we're gonna have to run across that street, sooner or later." (beat) "Unless we just want to cross in front of the Double Eagle on _this_ side and give anyone inside with a mind for it gallery targets."

"Rather not, thanks."

Cordelia frowned and looked thoughtful herself. "How far would you guess that is, anyway?"

Xander shrugged. "I make it about a hair over four-and-a-quarter hundred yards, give or take."

"Four-forty to four seventy-five, max," Vince said, pursing his lips. "Two hundred fifty to the church steeple."

Xander nodded. "Could you make that shot?"

Vince pursed his lips again, looking thoughtful, with Cordelia watching both of them with an expression of increasing interest and alarm. "Yup. Either one," he said, nodding. "Don't have to ask if you could."

"Occurs to me I have the wrong rifle," Xander said.

Cordelia arched an eyebrow, "Want me to have the maid fetch you your nice rifle for the party, dear?"

Xander's lips twitched into a slight smile. "Nah. Happen to know this one will hit at that distance." He glanced to Vince, and said, "Can you hit those mission bells up there from here?"

"With this?" Vince nodded. "I've shot a fifty ninety-five at range before. And may I just say, Deputy Harris, I like the way I suspect your mind works."

Xander flipped up the express folding ladder sight and made an adjustment, lowered it and did the same with the tang sight, then took a position resting the .40-82 against one of the posts supporting the boardwalk awning. "Why thank you, Deputy Garret. You may begin when ready, sir." Cordelia sucked in a breath and stuck her fingers in her ears, hastily.

Vince adjusted his tang sight, and then stepped out and raised the '76 and fired four shots _almost_ as fast as he could work the lever. The bells in the Mission bell tower began pealing...

As a figure staggered out within view up in the tower, trying to cover his ears, Xander fired twice with the .40-82, hand working the lever evenly and quickly. He then stepped out into the street and turned, switching sights – tang for ladder – and firing twice more offhand up into the steeple bell cupola of the Episcopalian church behind them, his hand again smooth and fast on the lever. Two figures staggered, one in each vantage point, and then a pair of rifles fell tumbling from the openings, followed shortly after by one of the owners. The other man slumped over the rail of the church cupola, one hand trailing downward.

Vince looked at Xander and raised an eyebrow.

Xander left the lever open and blew into chamber, clearing the smoke from the barrel and breech. "You don't have to worry," he said. "Not suddenly becoming a cold empty machine that kills people. I just get seriously annoyed when people shoot my friends." He smiled and closed the breech. "Time to start discouraging that."

Vince shook his head. "Not as concerned about that as Dude and John T. seem to be. A man needs a bit of cold to him."

"Yeah," Xander said, nodding. "Balances out the warm and fuzzy."

"I'm just a touch miffed because one of your hot empties went into my shirt pocket," Vince said, digging out the brass and juggling it a bit before tossing it to Xander.

Xander caught and juggled it a bit himself. "Ah. My apologies for that, Deputy Garrett." He bent and recovered the other empty brass, and stuck it into a pocket for later reloading.

Cordelia shook her head. "Swear to god. I will never _ever_ get used to seeing you able to shoot like that, Xander."

Vince smiled, and said, "You do pretty good yourself, Cordelia." (beat) "But remind me not to get your man irritated at me from five hundred yards away..."

Cordelia smiled back. "No. I do _ok_. Put a rifle or pistol in _my_ hands, _I'm_ a _good_ shot," she said. "I don't suddenly become pure _magic_ the way that you and Xander do."

Vince frowned and dug his pinky into his ear. "Hrmm. That sounded suspiciously almost like a compliment."

Xander grinned. "It was. Treasure it – Cordy doesn't hand them out lightly or often. Or, ever, actually." Cordelia swatted at him, huffing.

Vince nodded and smiled slightly. "Let's go visiting."

* * *

Vince came back from sneaking up to the hotel and peeking in the sides of the windows, after having a brief word with the hotel doorman.

"I make it six. O'Toole, Kyle, and three of Wilkins' second stringers," he said. He paused, and made a face. "And that Rhonda gal with a bloody bandage on her left arm and a sling."

Xander nodded. "A pity she's right handed."

"I don't hold with shooting women," Vince said, nodding back. He took out his mare's leg and checked it over.

Cordelia's mouth set in a grim line as she checked her pistol and drilling. "I'll handle Rhonda Kelly. Don't worry," she said, snapping the drilling closed.

Vince nodded again. "So. How you want to play it?"

Xander paused, thinking. "Lobby?"

"Hotel bar, just off the lobby."

Xander shrugged "Cordy goes around the side and comes in through the back of the bar. Us? Straight in the front through the double doors off the lobby."

Vince pursed his lips. "Straight up against five guns?" (beat) "I've heard stupider plans, but not in awhile."

Xander shrugged again. "Got a better one?"

Vince did a smooth practice draw with the mare's leg. "Said it was dumb. Didn't say I had a better one." He picked up his rifle.

"I would ask when you started thinking in tactics," Cordelia said, looking at Xander, "But, then, going straight in against five guns doesn't exactly make you General Patton, Doofus." She frowned at him, then raised an eyebrow. "Soldier Boy input?"

"Maybe?" Xander shrugged. "He was fading, but maybe he's getting active again."

Cordelia nodded. "Well, if Hyena Boy does, I'll swat him on the nose with a rolled up newspaper and send him to the vet." She made a snipping motion with her fingers. "Get me?"

Noticing Vince's raised eyebrows, Cordelia shrugged. "Explain it all later. Now? So not the time or place. But... you deserve the full thing."

"Works for me," Vince said, nodding to her. "Ready to go a courtin'?"

* * *

Eliot Beauregard, doorman at Sunnydale Arms, beamed at them as they came up. "Why Mr. Harris, Miss Chase, and Mr. Garret. What a pleasure it is to see you again." He nodded to Vince's badge, adding, "And may I say congratulations on your finding gainful and respectable employment in our fair city, _Deputy_ Garrett."

Vince, his lips twitching at the corners, said, "Why, you may indeed, sir. And I thank you for it."

Xander nodded. "Mister Beauregard. It is a pleasure to be back. How does this fine evening find you?"

"Quite well indeed, even if my rheumatism does act up a bit on occasion."

"I'm so sorry to hear about the rheumatism, Eliot," Cordelia said. Xander moved his duster out of the way, and Cordelia did the same with her long coat. Beauregard's eyes widened slightly, and then he broke out into a broad smile.

"My deepest apologies, sir, and madame. Deputy _Marshall_ Harris. And Deputy _Marshall_ Chase. My word," he said. "I must say, speaking as a member of a slightly disadvantaged group of individuals myself, at least in certain regards, what a pleasure it is to see that Marshal Dude seems to be continuing his enlightened employment practices."

Cordelia beamed at him.

"On behalf of the management of the Sunnydale Arms," Beauregard added "Allow me to welcome you all back to our fine establishment. Might I inquire as to the length and purpose of your stay with us?"

Xander smiled. "You may. The length, I'm afraid, is undetermined. As to our purpose, we are meeting with a Mister O'Toole, and a Mister DuFours, and party in the hotel lounge for affairs of business."

"Ah. Quite. Excellent, and long overdue, if I may be so bold. Regretfully, I must request that you _do_ attempt to please limit any breakage that might occur due to the nature of your discussions?"

Vince, his lips still twitching at the corners, said, "You may, and we certainly will attempt to do so."

Xander looked at him thoughtfully. "Would your rear entrance leading to the back door of the lounge be unlocked, perchance? I'm afraid that Deputy Chase looks a fright, and would prefer to make her entrance discretely."

Beauregard paused, and then said, "Well, while I must say that I certainly can't detect any disarray in the lovely Deputy Chase, it definitely _can_ be arranged to be so. The Management of the Sunnydale Arms has instructed all of us, one and all, to extend you every reasonable courtesy and service should you choose to visit us again. Discretely, even."

He gestured the younger porter over to him. "Young man? Would you be so kind as to go and quietly unlock the rear door for Deputy Chase? Be a good fellow."

Looking uncertain and a bit frightened, the porter asked him, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Beauregard frowned. "Good? My word, no. Called for? Certainly," he said. "Do run along, discretely, now. Or would you prefer that I note your reluctance to Mister Haversham and Miss Quinn for your next performance review?"

The porter's spine straightened with a snap. "Why, no sir, I would not." He motioned to Cordelia to follow him around the hotel to the doors.

Cordelia said, "Such a lovely man you are." She started to reach into a pocket, and stopped when Beauregard scowled ferociously at her.

"Please don't be insulting, Deputy Chase. None of us would dream of accepting a gratuity from any member of _city_ law enforcement engaged in the pursuit of their lawful endeavors. Shame on you."

Cordelia smiled. "Of course, how silly of me," She leaned up and kissed him on cheek, and said, "You will, of course, accept a small token of my esteem come Christmas, however?"

Beauregard smiled. "Of course. The missus would find it greatly amiss of me if I did not."

Xander leaned in and stole a quick kiss from Cordy. "Go, honey. We'll give you ten minutes."

Cordelia nodded. "Be careful, dumbass. Don't you dare die on me." She followed the porter around the building's side.

Beauregard pulled out a pocket watch and checked it. "Fear not, Mr. Bellington will inform us when she is inside." He paused, looking speculative. "If I might inquire, was that the distinctive sound of your fine Winchester I heard a short time ago, Deputy Harris? And yours, Deputy Garrett?"

"It was indeed," Vince said.

Xander shrugged. "Engaging in a bit of varmint suppression, I'm afraid."

"Ah. High time," Beauregard said, smoothly. "I fear we have become rather infested, recently."

Vince nodded. "So we've noticed. We have full intentions of culling the herd a bit." Xander nodded as well, drawing back the tail of his duster and snapping it in place back out of the way.

Beauregard beamed at them. "Excellent. Long overdue, if you ask me, which, of course, you did not. _Long_ overdue."

Xander looked seriously at Beauregard. "Thanks," he said, quietly.

Beauregard frowned. "Mister Xander. There is no one at this hotel that does not like you and is not enjoying your return to town and is not waiting with anticipation to see just what you may do next to shake things up around here," he said. "And there is likewise no one here who is not absolutely charmed by Miss Chase. And _very_ few who actually care for the current... city and county establishment. I _assure_ you: no thanks are necessary."

"Guess he told _you_, Deputy Harris."

Xander smiled. "Oh, _you_ hush, Deputy Garrett." The smile became a smirk... "Just 'cause Cordy wasn't here to say it."

* * *

.


	21. Never Stand Next to Anyone

**Chapter Twenty: Never Stand _Next_ to Anyone Flinging Shit at an Armed Man...**

* * *

"_Some prices are just too high, no matter how much you may want the prize. The one thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart.__"_ ― Miles Vorkosigan (from 'Memory')

* * *

Jack O'Toole straightened up from his slouch at the bar. "Well well. Looky here. Kid Harris has a badge." He lowered his hand to rest on the butt of his pistol, menacingly.

Xander brought the Winchester down from his shoulder and fired as it came level at his hip. "And a rifle," he said. O'Toole staggered back, his gun barely clear of his holster...

Xander worked the lever smoothly as Kyle drew and fired a shot that screamed wildly over his head, fired, worked the lever and fired again. He caught movement from the corner of his eye, and shifted his aim slightly, putting the next round into one of the second stringers just as Vince nailed him in the chest, almost simultaneously.

There was the flat crash of a shot from rear entry to the hotel bar as Cordelia stepped through. Rhonda Kelly staggered, her face going pale and shocked.

Rhonda turned, her pistol falling from her hand to clatter on floor. "Cordelia?"

Cordelia stepped forward once, and said, "No one shoots my boyfriend or my friends, Rhonda." She scowled, adding, "Even if I don't like them very much." Pulling the rear trigger on the drilling, she fired again and a slug struck Rhonda slightly high and off center in the chest...

Blood bubbled up out of Rhonda's mouth, and she dropped to her knees, then toppled over, face down. Cordelia broke open the action and reached for a replacement rifle cartridge.

Vince looked down at bodies of the other five. "Sometimes, straight up works." He blew out the muzzle of his rifle and worked the lever again, starting to load in cartridges through the gate.

There was a shout from the doorway behind them and Xander and Vince spun as Sheriff Munroe ran in, Stein behind him. Both skidded to a halt, looking around the barroom.

Munroe swore, and followed it with, "All right. You're all under arrest for murder."

Cordelia glared at him hotly. "_What_? It was self defense!"

The Hotel Bartender came up from behind the bar, nodding. "It was, Sheriff. Really."

Xander tapped his chest. "And we have badges."

Munroe glared at him, scowling. "I don't care if you have writs from God," he said, "You're with the Marshall and John Chance, you're in jail." He paused, and added, "Paul. Take their guns and arrest them."

Deputy Stein looked over the bodies on the floor and raised his eyebrows. "Bob? They just killed six armed men – people – in a two on one fight." Shaking his head, he added, "_You_ arrest them," with a faint smile.

Sheriff Munroe glared at him. "That's treason, Deputy. I'll see you hung," he said.

Vince shook his head. "Hanged." Pausing a beat, he smiled. "He may already be hung, but I'll let you check."

Xander switched his rifle to his left hand and lowered his right to hang at his pistol butt. "Any time you feel twitchy, Sheriff Bob." He paused, raising an eyebrow as Munroe turned pale and moved his hand hastily away from his revolver butt... "Didn't think so."

Cordelia said, "Ahem" and Munroe turned to look at her and paled further as he saw her drilling aimed at his face. "I won't bother waiting for you to draw," she said, smiling sweetly.

Vince smiled. "Guess she told you."

There was movement and a voice from doorway behind Cordelia. Xander and Vince stepped apart to one side and half turned as Cordelia's drilling hit the floor with a clattering thump.

Richard Wilkins stood just past the doorway holding Cordelia with an arm around her throat and a derringer under her chin. "I don't think that'll be necessary, Bob," he said. Mr. Trick stood next to them, smirking at Vince and Xander.

Damn. Check to the gunslinger with the big rifle and the stupid look on his face. Xander swore internally.

In a quiet and deadly soft voice, Xander said, "Let. Her. Go." He drew the long barreled target revolver and aimed it at Wilkins.

Cordelia glared at him. "Shoot him, dammit!"

"Now now," Wilkins said, smiling brightly. "A foul mouth is unbecoming in a young woman, young lady." He put pressure on his arm and raised Cordelia onto her toes so she covered more of him. She gasped and her hands went to his arm.

Xander's eyes widened. "Don't."

Wilkins smiled. "Oh, I won't. Unless you make me. All that blood? So very unsanitary."

Xander decocked the revolver, but didn't lower it. "What do you want?"

Wilkins lowered Cordelia so she could breathe again. "Why, I want you to take a message back to your friend the Marshall for me: he's to let Blake Maitland go," he said, and nodded to Cordelia. "She's coming with me as a guarantee."

Vince raised an eyebrow. "And you let Cordelia go if Dude does as you tell him?"

"Maybe.," Wilkins said, "But, I definitely won't if he does not." He paused and sniffed at Cordelia's hair and she grimaced in distaste. "Hrmm. Not a virgin. Useless as a sacrifice for reactivating the Hellmouth. Still, she'd make a _wonderful_ sacrifice to one or another of my patrons, if nothing else."

Xander looked at him. He was pretty sure he knew what Wilkins meant – and even more certain he didn't _want_ to know the details... visions of the Frat Boys and their reptile god cult danced behind his eyes.

"Where to? And when?" Xander said, quietly. Cordelia's eyes widened, and she shook her head as vigorously as she could with Wilkins holding her.

"The Mission. Where else? As soon as Maitland walks in," he said, "She walks out." He let a beat pass, and smiled. "Maybe. And oh, in two days time. Just an hour past full sundown, let us say."

Xander looked him over, still holding the pistol aimed, thumb on hammer. "She doesn't, I walk in after her." He had never, _ever_ wanted to shoot someone as badly as he did Wilkins right at this moment...

"Your option. Is it a deal?"

Xander lowered the pistol to hang at his side, and nodded. "Let him go. For now."

Vince, his voice slightly strained, said, "You sure?"

"You have a better idea? One that doesn't get Cordy killed?"

Vince sighed. "Nope."

"Well, this is exciting, isn't it? Clandestine meetings by dark of night, exchange of prisoners," Wilkins said, smiling broadly and cheerfully. "I just, I... I feel like we should all be wearing black hats and white hats or something." He began backing through the door with Cordelia –

– Xander cleared his throat. "Oh. Mayor Wilkins," he said, quietly. Wilkins paused, raising his eyebrows. "Something you should understand here first, before you go."

Wilkins said, still smiling, "I'm listening."

Xander smiled back, pleasantly. "Understand this: if _anything_ happens to Cordelia, she comes to _any_ harm... your fault, my fault, _nobody's_ fault, accident, on purpose, it doesn't matter. She has a heart attack from stress or even just gets a hangnail, then, I'm going to find you, and I'm going to kill you. No matter what happens, no matter who gets in my way, no matter who else gets killed or dies, or how many guns I have to go through – I will reach you and I will blow your head off."

Wilkins, _still_ smiling, nodded and said, "Well, golly. I must say I will certainly remember that, young man."

Trick casually edged his hand toward his holster... "Well, can't happen if – "

There was very loud report as Vince's .50-95 went off from the hip and Trick's handgun jumped wildly in the holster, just under his hand. The second shot smashed the pearl grips. "Try and jerk that pistol again, and Harris won't have to kill _you_."

Wilkins blinked. "My, how very uncouth." He looked at Xander. "I must ask... Would that count as someone doing something that might cause Miss Chase harm?"

Xander shrugged. "I trust Vin's aim. And his judgment."

"I see. Ah... Friendship is such a _wonderful_ thing," Wilkins said, cheerfully. "I'll have to remember to stamp it out when I've achieved my goals."

Xander locked his eyes with Cordelia's. "Don't worry. I'm coming after you."

Cordelia's eyes widened, "_That's_ what worries me, Goof," she said.

Wilkins and Trick backed carefully out through the door with Cordelia. Everyone watched them go, tense and uncomfortable, and Stein arched his eyebrows and shot his boss a pointed look.

Sheriff Munroe grimaced and shoved his way past Stein with a glare, and pushed out through the front doors.

Deputy Stein took off his badge and looked at it, then shrugged and tossed it onto one of the bodies. "Sigh. I suppose I'm fired."

Vince, shrugged and looked at him. "That's ok. This ship can always use another loose cannon."

* * *

Outside the hotel, and through the back door, they acquired a pair of Wilkins remaining gunsels. Cordelia glanced over at the body of the young, black porter sprawled a short distance away, and swallowed heavily. Stopping in the alley, Wilkins tightened his grip around Cordelia's throat, one hand gripping her arm, while Trick relieved her of her pistols, handbag, and Bowie knife. Trick seemed to spend an inordinate time on her legs, and when he brushed a hand over her breasts, smirking, Wilkins frowned.

Wilkins snapped out as Cordelia glared and shuddered, "There will be none of _that_ now, Mr. Trick. I was not in the least bit unhappy that Miss Cordelia here killed that overly lascivious Corby fellow."

Trick shrugged. "By your command." He flicked at the badge on Cordelia's vest. "My my," he said, "How Marshall Dude's standards have fallen."

Cordelia smiled slightly. "Oh, I don't know. Rhonda Kelly didn't seem to find me lacking any." (beat) "Neither did Bill Corby." Wilkins laughed, nodding, his grip not slackening the least bit...

"No, they did not, at that," he said, pleasantly.

They resumed moving through the alley toward the square and City Hall, the pair of guns leading the way with one bringing up the rear.

Trick rummaged through Cordelia's bag and pulled out her stake. "And my oh _my_. The intrepid young vampire hunter."

Cordelia smiled crookedly, and said, "Self defense. Because Mace and handguns are _so_ last decade."

Wilkins grinned appreciatively. "Hah! Not scared a bit, are you?" Cordelia shrugged, saying nothing.

Once at their destination, they slipped inside City Hall past the guards, though a back way.

Wilkins glanced at her curiously. "You didn't seem anxious to have young Sir Gawain come to your rescue. Why is that, I wonder?"

Cordelia set her mouth in a thin line and looked mulish, shaking her head.

Trick sighed. "I would answer the man. If not, I'm very good at extracting things from the reluctant." He paused, smiling slightly, "_Painfully_ good."

Cordelia glared at him, then shrugged. "I'm not, not really," she said, sighing.

Wilkins nodded, looking thoughtful. "Oh? Why not? One would think that a young woman in your predicament would welcome rescue from her young Knight Errant."

Cordelia smiled at him. _Not_ a very nice smile. "You don't really know Xander Harris very well, do you? Or at all," she said. "If you _did_, you'd let me go right now. Unharmed."

Trick smirked at her. "Why don't you enlighten us, pray tell?"

Cordelia shrugged. "Hurt Xander, or threaten _him_, and he'll probably back off, or step aside if he can. Hurt bystanders or his friends? He'll deal with it, but it won't get... personal. But you hurt or threaten the people he loves? Especially someone like _me_?" she said, shrugging again. Pausing, she added, "He _meant_ what he said. He'll come after, and he won't care who or what or how many get in his way. He'll go through them on his way to me, and the gods help anyone idiotic enough to try and stop him."

Wilkins smiled again, looking impressed. "My word," he said, "And how thoughtfully solicitous of you to be concerned for us."

Cordelia laughed, cutting off abruptly as it began to sound slightly hysterical. "Oh, I _so_ don't give a _crap_ about either of you," she said. "You're both dead – you just haven't fallen over or burst into dust yet. I just don't care for what doing it will do to _Xander_." She frowned. "What was it he said? Oh yeah – just a cold, empty machine, that eats, walks, talks, and kills people. Believe me: you _don't_ want to see that. _I_ don't want to see that, not again."

Trick laughed, arrogant disbelief stamped in every nuance of his tone and expression.

Wilkins smiled. "And you're not scared a bit for yourself, are you? You _should_ be, you know."

Cordelia swallowed hard. "Oh, I'm scared, believe me."

Trick nodded. "She is. I can smell it all over her," he said. "But, hey, she's spunky. I like that – it always does such wonderful things for the flavor."

The basement of City Hall gave way to a tunnel entrance, lit with gas lights, leading apparently across the square to the Courthouse/County Jail.

Wilkins shook his head, saying, "Well, just remember that I have a use for her. Several, actually. I don't care if the taste is like Sarsaparilla and cotton candy for you. You had your snack on that young porter." The two gunmen swallowed hard, shooting nervous glances at Trick.

Trick shrugged. "Do you have a use for young Harris as well? Because, he can't very well storm through everything in his way if he's not around. You really _should_ take care to make that happen."

Wilkins smiled genially, and said, "You know, I never have cared much for it when people working for me temper their advice with words like 'you _should_' and 'you _must_'." He placed his hand on Trick's shoulder, and Trick grimaced with distaste and not a little fear. "I'd really be _careful_ about doing that again, in the future."

Cordelia watched the exchange with interest. Trick, noticing that, glared at her.

Wilkins frowned slightly, and said, "You are not indispensable, Mr. Trick. Remember your place here."

Trick said carefully, not looking at him. "My master wouldn't like it very much if you were to... dispense with me in any permanent fashion."

Wilkins replied, cheerfully, "_My_ patrons wouldn't care at all. And the Greek can always find another useful lackey."

Cordelia smirked, and said, "_You_ seem to be running a bit low on them, however."

Wilkins smiled tolerantly. "More where they came from. Ah – Sheriff Munroe. Be a good man and personally escort Miss Chase to a secure location for safekeeping and place her with the other one. She's... an extremely valuable property right now."

Cordelia snorted indelicately. When Wilkins looked at her curiously, she said, "Bob _Munroe_? He _so_ wouldn't know how to be a good man with detailed instructions and a manual by Emily Post."

Trick laughed out loud. "Like I said, she's got spunk. I _really_ like her."

Munroe flushed and said, "Now look, you." He jabbed his index finger at Cordelia's face.

Cordelia smiled brightly at him. "I'm so _not_ surprised by _Trick_. But you? I'm _amazed_ that Wilkins finds you useful. Still... " Munroe turned a darker red with each word... "I guess even _big_ monsters need the mindless and spineless ones to do their dirty work."

Wilkins scowled and said, sharply, "_Bob!_"

Munroe halted with his hand raised to strike Cordelia, turning to face him. "_Unharmed_, please," Wilkins said, pleasantly.

Munroe scowled, and Wilkins smiled gently, adding, "I've been informed in no uncertain terms that she's _extremely_ important to my longevity. So... not a scratch, not a bruise, not a hair disarrayed on her pretty head, if you please." Wilkins looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. "Else I'll simply have to appoint Miss Sheridan as your replacement by fiat, once Mr. Trick has had his fill of you."

Munroe glanced sharply at the smirking Trick, and lowered his hand, glowering. "Harris? And that Garret character?"

Trick smiled, "Oh, they yet live."

Munroe shook his head. "You really should kill both of them, Wilkins," he said.

"_Mayor_ Wilkins, if you please, Bob," Wilkins said, "Or _Mr_. Wilkins."

Cordelia smiled at Munroe. "Gee, Bob. He and Mr. Trick already had that discussion. I doubt you have even Trick's small immunity."

Trick nodded, smiling. "But, do feel free to kill them yourself, Bob. If you can."

Munroe, with the red draining from his face, grabbed Cordelia by the upper arm and jerked her toward himself. "Come on, you."

Cordelia looked over and raised an eyebrow to Wilkins. "Oh, please," she said. She raised her knee, suddenly, sharply, and hard. Munroe gasped and folded over. Cordelia put her hand on his forehead and shoved as he let go abruptly, sending him flailing back to fall on his butt. She smiled and stepped forward to offer her arm to the younger deputy.

Wilkins laughed, shaking his head with an admiring expression. "My oh my. _What_ a firecracker."

The Deputy took Cordelia's upper arm reflexively, and then gaped at her. "Wait," he said, "You have a _badge_?"

Cordelia smiled sweetly, nodding. "Deputy _Marshall_ Chase. And I believe that Dude takes a dim view of people harming his Deputies, also."

Wilkins chuckled "Wonderful. Truly wonderful. I'll have some dinner and homemade root beer sent down to you and your fellow prisoner."

Cordelia looked back, nodding. "Just make sure that Mister Trick takes good care of my revolvers, Bowie knife, and stake." She smiled. "I'm going to want them back."

Wilkins said, still chuckling, "I'll place them in my desk for safekeeping. Believe me – no harm will come, to _them_."

* * *

Deathly still outside the back door of the hotel, almost literally. Except for the buzzing of flies... Xander spotted the body of the porter and went over to kneel beside him. He set Cordelia's drilling aside and laid his '86 across his lap as the hotel manager gasped behind them. Reaching out, he turned the porter's head to one side to examine the neck, and sighed. He gently closed the man's eyes, and stood, picking up the drilling and his rifle as he rose, adjusting Jack's fancy rig where it hung from his shoulder. "Damn. Vaya con dios. And may Hades take you and keep you."

"Dead?" Vince asked.

"Yup. Trick."

"My word," Mr. Haversham said. "What kind of man _is_ he, anyway?"

"Vampire, actually," Xander said.

"You're joking, surely," the hotel manager said, staring at him with a shocked and incredulous expression.

"Not a bit."

Vince threw a sharp look at Xander. "Ok. I have an inkling, but I gotta ask," he said, "Why didn't you shoot? Happen to know you could have hit Wilkins through either eye over or past Cordelia's head."

Xander shrugged. "Same applies. Why didn't you?"

"Asked you first."

Xander gave him a sour look. "You left off the neener neener." He shrugged. "Trick. Bullet won't necessarily stop him, and he could break Cordy's neck before either of us could react."

Vince nodded. "Fair enough." He paused, looking thoughtful, and said, "What would one of these through the brainpan do?" He hefted the .50-95.

"Huh. I knew of one like him that got a pipe organ dropped on him and was supposedly in a wheelchair for months," Xander said, thoughtfully. "So I imagine they regrow nerve tissue a bit more slowly. Probably put him down long enough to finish him. Even so," he said, "No guarantee _Wilkins_ couldn't have broken Cordelia's neck himself. Or that he wouldn't twitch when I shot him and put a derringer slug through her head."

Vince nodded. "Not arguing. Not worth the risk."

Stein, also frowning, straightened up from examining the body's throat wounds himself. He swallowed hard, slightly pale. "What is he exactly? And the thankfully missing Gorch brothers?"

Vince looked at Xander, who shrugged. "Ever read a book by a Brit fella named Stoker?"

Stein paled a bit farther. "Oh, you _must_ certainly be joking."

"Didn't we just go through this?" Xander said, and sighed. "I _never_ joke about monsters. Not in a context like this one. Accept it and deal. Move on."

Stein paled even farther, and swallowed hard once more. "And you killed the Gorch brothers, as you implied to Mr. Trick and the Mayor?"

Xander nodded. "One of them. Someone else got the other."

Stein asked, curiously, "Who? Miss Cordelia?"

"You didn't pay to see that card," Xander said, "My turn: where will he take her? Straight to the Mission?"

Stein shook his head. "City Hall. It is built like a fortress." He paused, and said, "And there are areas of the subbasement there that are off limits to anyone except the Mayor and his 'special assistants'. I believe there may be a tunnel or tunnels that lead to under the County Jail and the Mission."

Xander said, frowning. "Ok. You and Ex-Deputy Stein take Wilkins' message back to Dude and Chance."

Vince gave him a raised eyebrow, and said, "What about you?"

Xander shrugged. "Got something to take care of."

"Don't want company?"

"Naw," Xander said. "Someone's got to make sure Stein doesn't get shot at the door."

"True, that." Vince nodded. "See you."

* * *

Xander rapped on the door of the house with the muzzles of Cordelia's drilling again – not too hard; he didn't care to damage them.

It had taken him a trip to the Paradise to ask a few questions, and inform Glenn and Kevin of recent events while he was there of occurrences, before he'd gotten the address. And then another trip out of the town center to the houses on the outskirts of town to get there.

He didn't bother to stick to the alleyways and sneak. Wasn't in the mood.

The few of Munroe's deputies who saw him on the main street, and the few of Maitland and Stillwell's gunsels that saw him pass by the Double Eagle before he went around to approach the Paradise from the back, just watched him. And didn't attempt to interfere.

There were footsteps hurrying across the floor, and a gruff, cultured voice said, "Yes? Who _is_ it?"

"Giles? Deputy Marshall Harris, and I need a word with you."

There was a sigh, and then Giles was opening the door to his house. "Do you realize what time it is?'

Xander nodded. "Later than you think." He pushed through doorway past Giles, a weapon in either hand. "Normally, I wouldn't do it this way, but I'm in a hurry. As you can see, _not_ a vampire."

Giles said, removing his glasses. "Now _see_ here. Exactly what kind of hurry justifies your barging into my home at this time of night? And just what did you mean by that comment?"

Xander turned, staring him in the eye. "You're a Watcher."

Giles said, spluttering and suddenly taken aback, "I-I'm a _school_ teacher, young man! E-ex-exactly what _are_ you accusing me of?"

Xander made a dismissive gesture. "Yeah. Cover," he said, "You're a Watcher. Of the Watcher's Council of Great Britain."

Giles shook his head, still spluttering, and now turning red. "Now see here, young fellow," he said, blustering. "I r-really have n-no idea what you're tal– "

"Yeah yeah. Save it. You stutter when you're embarrassed or lying, Giles," Xander said. "And you polish your glasses when you're stalling, or embarrassed, or uncertain about something. And – you're a freaking _Watcher_."

Giles looked down at the glasses he'd been polishing with the hem of his shirt, and reddened. He put them back on. "I-I well, _really_... "

Xander glared at him. "I don't have _time_ for this, Giles. They have my Cordelia. And Wilkins said something about a sacrifice to activate the Hellmouth."

Giles stared at him. "I-I... I see." He paused, and said, "Perhaps you'd better explain just _what_ exactly is happening. And just _how_ you know about Watchers and the Watcher's Council."

Xander shook his head and said, "No time for that last. Later." He paused. "Take it you know about the Hellmouth? And something of Wilkins?"

Giles walked to the flat top stove and put on a pot of water. "Tea?" He paused, looking thoughtful. "Not precisely. The Council has _suspected_ there may be a-a... mystical hotspot of some kind in this area, since we have lost three Slayers here within the past few decades." He paused again, removing his glasses. "You, uh... "

Xander nodded. "I know about the Slayer. Never mind how, for now."

Giles nodded back. "I see. We _will_ come back to that." He paused and drew in a deep breath. "All right. And, yes. We know that Richard Wilkins is a black arts Sorcerer of some sort, yes."

Xander accepted a cup of tea, setting the drilling and the Winchester to one side, followed by Jack's rig and pistols. "Uh huh. He plans to make himself Mayor and activate the Hellmouth under the Mission for some reason. And I think he intends to use Cordelia and possibly Ianara Gutierrez to do it, somehow... "

Giles took a sip from his own tea and motioned to some chairs. "I see. You had best fill me in on what's happened, and explain this all to me, very carefully... First off, who _are_ you, precisely, and _exactly_ how is it that you know me?"

* * *

.


	22. Once You Can Predict the Present

**Chapter Twenty-One: Once You Can Predict the Present, the Future Takes Care of Itself...**

* * *

"_One problem I have definitely solved is the problem of not having enough to worry about.__"_ ― Ashleigh Brilliant

* * *

Giles studied Xander quietly for some time over the rim of his tea cup as he sipped from it. Xander studied him back, raising an eyebrow in sardonic amusement as they both realized what they were doing and smiled tightly at each other.

Giles nodded an acknowledgment to him, and got up to make a fresh pot, bringing it back to the table after it was done. He crossed to a sideboard as Xander refilled his cup, and returned with a cut glass decanter two thirds full of a dark amber liquid.

"Splash of brandy with that?" he asked.

Xander opened his mouth to refuse, and then shrugged mentally. What the hell. "Sure. And, thank you."

"Quite," Giles said, and tipped a decent splash of the amber liquid into both cups. "Salud."

Inclining his head, Xander took a cautious sip. Damn. Good brandy. And he wasn't just guessing at that because he wouldn't know the difference between a decent brandy and worm squeezings – it really was, he realized. Huh. At some point, apparently he here had acquired at least a working knowledge of alcohol.

_'Well, duh,'_ Still Small said. _'You here did travel all over, and spend some not inconsiderable amount of time in New __Y__ork City, what passes for the center of culture here.'_

True, that.

"It occurs to me that, now that I am thinking upon it, you look vaguely familiar to me for some reason," Giles said. "Are you one of the Council's Special Operatives, perhaps?"

That startled a bark of involuntary laughter out of Xander. "Hah! I am so very tempted to say 'yes', and see how far I can ride that," he said, smiling. "But no, not exactly. And I was just thinking the same about you... except in my case, it's because I've seen you around town on occasion, not just since we returned, but before when I was growing up here."

"Hrmm." Giles frowned. "I don't recall that you were ever one of my students. And yes, I do recall you from that alleyway – you managed to slay Tector Gorch somehow."

"Home schooled, so, no," Xander said, shaking his head. "But I think Cordelia was one, during the times when she lived here in town instead of out at the ranch. Still, I was around town more than a bit, off and on."

Interesting how trippingly the lies fell off of the tongue. Especially when they weren't really _lies_: one was just relaying the background the Info Dump Man fed to you, or that sifted up before your mind's eye...

"Cordelia Chase, the, err, wayward Chase offspring?" Giles said, frowning. "I believe so, yes. Her mother was... Elena de la Rosa?"

"Her Great Aunt, and I am so very glad you chose to not use the words 'Chase bastard'," Xander said.

Giles shook his head, scowling at him. "I would never dream of taking out a family's indiscretions upon a child. It simply isn't done. Nor is there any shame in that origin."

"Quite," Xander said, smiling slightly.

"All right, then... " Giles refilled his cup, and added a splash of brandy to this one as well. "Reginald Giles, Deputy Harris," he held out his hand across the small table, "Of the Council of Watchers of Great Britain."

"Alexander Harris, known as Xander," Xander said, taking the hand and shaking it briefly. "And, I could ask for better circumstances for this meeting."

"Indeed," Giles chuckled. "All right. You obviously have a working knowledge of vampires and vampirism, and you appear to know something that I have yet to fully determine – that there is a Hellmouth beneath this township. As well as its location... I believe you implied so, anyway?"

"Yeah," Xander said. Ok, so, on to business. "Under the monastery at the Sunnydale Mission. Seventy years from now, there'll be a high school there, and the Hellmouth will be located directly beneath the school library. But for right now, it's a monastery."

Giles looked at him sharply. "Seventy _years_... you have, I take it, access to a reliable Seer? Or perhaps, are one yourself?"

"Sorry. You haven't paid to see those cards yet," Xander said. "Just take it on faith that I have a _really_ reliable source for the time being, and move on."

"Hrmm." Giles lowered his glasses, and looked at him over the rims. "I become more and more convinced, despite your rather oblique demurral, and your youth, that you are indeed a Council Special Operative. One would _not_ necessarily identify himself to a Field Watcher, especially a Watcher not assigned to a Slayer or a Potential."

"Speculate all you want, Giles," Xander said, his smile going a bit lopsided.

"Oh, I shall, believe me," Giles said. "And, it is Reginald. I believe the lack of formality is called for here."

"All right, Reginald," Xander said. "Huh. I take it the current Slayer isn't bound for here any time soon?"

"Oh, my word, no," Reginald said. "We've lost too many to these environs to risk another here, at least until we have some better idea as to what precisely is the situation in this locale."

"Ok, and, ratz," Xander said, frowning. "Meaning it's just us. And associates."

"Hmm." Giles frowned a bit more deeply, and removed his glasses to polish them. "The Council prefers to work in secret, and alone, beneath the scrutiny of the locale populace whenever possible."

"The Council can go and frack itself sideways, for all I care," Xander said, grinning at him. "Ok, my associates, and I trust them. There's a few people like Vince Garrett and John T. Chance who've at least encountered the supernatural, along with Tor Hauer and Heidi Barrie. I know for a fact that Glenn Scott and Kevin Smith are aware of the rather... peculiar wildlife that infests the foothills and chaparral around here. And I'm pretty sure that Marshall Dude has at least an idea of the numbers on mysterious disappearances and 'eaten by a Grue' statistics around here by now."

Giles shook his head. "And that is getting to be quite a number, in addition to yourself and your young paramour. However," he inclined his head, "You are the operative."

Xander suppressed a grin. _Apparently_, Reginald Giles had made up his mind as to Xander's status, and there wasn't going to be any casual changing of it.

He shrugged instead, and said, "And Grinning Dick Wilkins is aware, and Sheriff Fat Bob Munroe is helping him cover it up. So the cat's at least part way out of the bag, no matter what."

"Indeed." Giles sighed, replacing his glasses. "Very well. What _precisely_ did Wilkins say to you?" he said, "And, just so I'll know whom and what I have to work with, what precisely _are_ your qualifications?"

"First to last," Xander said. "Just say that I have a real good working knowledge of demons from Mantis Ladies to the Judge to Acathla, and a better than decent working knowledge of vampires from William the Bloody, Drusilla, and Angelus, to the Master. Odd bits of language: smattering of Latin, bit of Etruscan and Sumerian... And I've known two Slayers." He paused, sipping at his brandied tea, and studied Giles' expression.

"My word, you do seem to have accumulated a bit of, ah, experiential knowledge?" Giles said, raising both eyebrows.

Xander shrugged and added, "And Wilkins said... that Cordelia was 'useless as a sacrifice for opening the Hellmouth, but that she'd do as one to one of his patrons'. Paraphrased a bit. And he didn't seem worried about the virgin part, and Ianara is missing, so if _she_ is, and she didn't run afoul of a Grue, then he probably already has the virgin sacrifice locked down."

"Hrmm... " Giles said, again, his frown deepening. "This is extremely bad. We were aware of Miss Gutierrez's disappearance. Wilkins' words... taking your word that there is, or shall be, an _inactive_ Hellmouth here at some point, he quite possibly has everything he might need to make this one active."

"Ahem."

The throat clearing jerked Xander out of his concentration and Giles' attention to the doorway leading from the main room to what appeared to be a small study. There was a newcomer standing there, a slightly pudgy, dark haired young man of about Xander's apparent age.

By this point, Xander was rapidly becoming blasé to seeing familiar faces in new guises, so he merely smiled, nodded, and said: "Hey, Jonathan. Fancy meeting you here."

"Uh, it's Aaron. Aaron Levinson," Jonathan, or at least his great grandfather and close sibling in looks said. "And, hello, Xander. Knew you were back, but I hadn't expected to see you _here_."

Jonathan – err, _Aaron__ – _Aaron glanced down at the heavy book he held with a finger marking his place, and glanced at Giles, lifting his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Mr. Harris, err, Xander, is well aware of the situation, Aaron," Giles said. "You may speak freely around him."

Xander looked pointedly at the young man, and then at Giles, raising his eyebrows and grinning. Giles had the grace to redden and remove his glasses for polishing.

"Well, err, that is to say... "

"Secrecy, check. Your very own Scooby Gang, check."

"Ahem. Yes, Aaron?" Giles apparently determined to ignore Xander in favor of the business at hand.

"I believe I may have found something here that might be applicable, Mr. Giles," Aaron said. "This is an old, old, history of the Spanish colonization and original land grants of this area. Apparently, the original Conquistadors who discovered this place, and the Jesuits who came with them, started to call this area – "

"– Boca del Infierno," Xander said, blinking.

Both men looked at him, older and younger. Xander shrugged. "_Real_ thorough grounding in the history of this area, from my Uncle, and, uh, other sources at various times. Think it comes from the Chumash name for it, which meant basically the same thing."

"Boca del Infierno," Giles said, staring at Xander, "The Mouth of Hell."

_'Come to think of it,'_ Still Small said, snickering in the back of his mind, _'You are _not _exactly __doing much of anything to convince Giles you are _not_ a Council Special Operative.'_

Oh, shut up... Xander shrugged again at the looks from the Watcher and his research assistant.

"Certainly seems to put a fine point on it, sir," Aaron said, nodding. "And one of the astrological references you gave me indicates that there is a mystical conjunction to coincide with the dark of the moon, in five days time. _If_ I have the astronomical calculations correct... "

* * *

Cordelia did her level best to restrain – or at least hide thoroughly – a full body shiver as the cell door clanged shut behind her. Never show fear. The key chain rattled as the middle-aged, heavyset deputy locked the door behind her. Following which there was a harsher more metallic rattle as he shook the door to test it.

Apparently he was satisfied it was locked, for he grunted in satisfaction and turned away, leaving the two younger deputies that had escorted her down here into the bowels of the County Jail building.

Bowels. Such an ugly, repulsive word, when you thought about it. And so very descriptive...

She was literally in the bowels of the building. Lower colon, most likely. Somewhere deep under the main jail levels, in an area off of the sub basement. Where Xander could never, _would _never ever find her. Never _ever_ be able to reach her... not alive.

_'Stop that, Chase, dammit,'_ a Still Quiet Voice in the back of her mind said, _'Do _not_ funk out on us now, or we'll never get out of here.'_

Wow. Her inner voice sounded like Holly Hunter. How weird was _that_?

_'Yeah yeah, critique the casting director later,'_ Still Quiet said. _'For now, stay alive, stay alert, and watch for an opening. Concentrate on what to do _now_.__ The__ Doofus _will_ come for us__ – __but we might have to be ready to help ourselves a bit... '_

Right. Cordelia took a deep, quiet, shuddering breath, her eyes squeezed shut with her back to her escort, and let it out, slowly. She squared her shoulders and opened her eyes. Right, she thought again.

Cordelia _Chase_ is no one's shrinking violet. And no damned movie ingénue, screaming and clutching at the hero for rescue.

Because movie world or not, this wasn't any damned movie. It had real blood and real death and real guns and all too real people in it. And real vampires.

Oh, gods, Xander. Get me _out_ of here. I _swear_ I'll do everything possible to help, but please... don't die and leave me with that smiling sociopath...

_'Time to ask the age old question? What would Buffy do?'_ Still Quiet said.

Screw _that_. Time to ask: what would Dude or Vin or John T. Chance do? There's _so_ no _Slayer_ here to lean on. And _Buffy _would go all Little Miss Kung-fu Momma and get herself drilled full of holes like Rhonda Kelly, _that's_ what Buffy would do.

Cordelia looked around her cell, and holding in a gasp, crossed quickly over to the small, dark haired, shivering figure huddled in the lower bunk on one side of the barred room. Kneeling beside the bunk, she put a hand on the other girl's shoulder and shook her gently.

"Hey, it's ok," she said, "You're not alone any more." She could hear her jailer escort talking among themselves, but ignored them.

There was a gasp, and the small figure turned under her hand, turning a tear streaked face and red, puffy eyes up at her. "Miss _Cordelia_?"

"Oh, gods, _Ianara_?" Cordelia blinked. Half in surprise, and half in relief – when Heidi had said the waitress was missing, she'd more than half assumed that meant she'd become vampire chow. Hey, the Hellmouth. Old assumptions die hard, here.

"What are you doing here?" The shorter girl pushed herself up onto her elbows, still shivering.

"Same thing you are, I'd guess," Cordelia said, her tone dry. "Captured and waiting for Mayor Rattlesnake-eyes to get around to me."

Seeing something dark and purplish on the Hispanic girl's neck, Cordelia's eyes narrowed. She reached out her hand and took Ianara by the chin, gently, and turned her head to get a better look. And gasped...

It's only in Hammer films that vampire bites are two neat little canine tooth punctures. These were a ragged tear, surrounded by bruised purplish and green flesh. Bitten at least twice, but not drained, thank the miserable gods.

And that would explain the faint pallor and the shivering.

"Madre de _Dios_, Miss Cordelia," Ianara said, turning her head back. "You have _got_ to be away from here – that monster... that _Treeck_."

"I'm open to suggestions," Cordelia said, "And yeah, I already know all about monsters. _Especially_ ones like Trick." She put her hands on the girl's shoulders, and pushed her back, gently. "Lay back, sweetheart. Let me see what I can do... "

She stood, slowly, feeling icy cold with rage. And turned to face the front of the cell and the two idiots still outside. Three now, still. The dumpy middle aged jailer had gone, and another, slightly older one had joined her two...

"Damn, she's a real serious looker," that one was saying. He all but had a trail of drool hanging from the side of his mouth as he ran his gaze up Cordelia's body and back down, lingering on her tits.

Ok. You die first, I get the chance, Cordelia thought, far too calmly.

"Shut the hell up, Dorman," the other one said, one of her escorts. "Don't be a damned fool. I heard she shot that Corby deader than hell. And that Rhonda Kelly."

"Hah. And she kneed Sheriff Bob between the legs so hard his nut sack probably _still_ hasn't dropped back down yet," her second escort said, smirking. The smirk and the words didn't stop him from doing the appreciative, lascivious gaze thing, though.

Cordelia put her best beauty queen, Pepsodent Commercial smile on and stalked to the front of the cell and gripped the bars on the door.

"You," she said, looking dead in the eye on the one that she'd given her arm to after kneeing Munroe. "I need water, and first aid stuff. A doctor would be better. This girl in here needs medical attention."

"I'm not sure we can do that, ma'am," her escort said, frowning.

"_You_ don't get anything," Mister Wandering Eyes said, "Just meals and water." He smirked at her, "And whatever _extras_ we decide to give you."

Something about the way he drawled out _extras_ sent a cold shiver up Cordelia's spine. She ignored it.

"Wilkins has a use for this girl," Cordelia said, carefully, focusing on the semi-decent one who'd called her 'ma'am'. "And me. In good health and undamaged, which she _isn't_, now. You _will_ get me the things I've asked for." She ignored Lascivious Jerk, and kept her eyes on her escort, who squirmed uncomfortably under her level gaze...

"You hear me, you – "

"What seems to be the trouble here?"

Apparently everyone had been so intent on the little drama that none of them had heard the owner of the new voice come up. Either that, or else she was as quiet as Heidi...

She, yes. A tall black woman, very dark chocolate with just a hint of cream to the coffee. Long, wavy black hair, running down past her shoulder blades and bound back. Five eleven if she was an inch, as tall as Xander, almost. And wearing a pair of brown corduroy jeans, with a dark brown vest over a wine red shirt. And a pretty nice gunbelt with a pair of pearl handled revolvers in holsters, one crossdraw, one strong side. Smith and Wessons, like her own...

Left handed, if that mattered.

New gal was carrying a large serving tray with food, and for crying out loud, two large foaming mugs of dark , heady liquid. Fresh root beer. Oh well, apparently Wilkins was a man of his word. Even his casual word. Nice to know.

Icy cold hazel eyes met dark brown over that tray, and Cordelia said, evenly, "This girl in here is hurt. She needs medical attention. And these... nice men... didn't want to give me what I was asking for."

"Which was?"

"Bandages, first aid stuff, anything. A doctor," Cordelia said, "Would be really wonderful."

"No doctor," New Gal said. "No outsiders come down here. Wilkins orders." She frowned, and added, "Stand back from the door. _All_ the way back – at the back wall of the cell."

Cordelia jerked her chin up and down once in a nod, and complied. Once she had her back to the back wall of the small, ten by twelve room, between the bunks, New Gal looked at the three guards. "You: cover her. You: unlock the door and hold it for me," she said. She looked at Mister Crawling Eyes and said, "And you: go stand in a corner somewhere and say some Hail Mary's or something."

"Hey – you can't – "

"I can't?" New Gal raised an eyebrow while Deputy Dog One and Deputy Dog Two hustled to comply. "Think you'll find you're wrong, about that. Scat."

Crawling Eyes backed away, grumbling, and New Gal stepped carefully in through the cell door, never taking her eyes off of Cordelia. Setting the tray on the small table she looked Cordelia in the eyes again and said, "All right, now. What's wrong with her, exactly?"

"_Look_ at her," Cordelia said, practically exploding. "_Trick_ is what's wrong with her! She's been _bitten_, dammit – _twice_."

"All right. What do you need to fix that?"

"Jeeze... A doctor, a warm room and bed, and some whole blood and an IV, probably," Cordelia said, shaking her head, "But since _that_ doesn't seem to be an option... " she paused, thinking furiously. What _did_ you do for blood loss? "Blankets, more of them. Keep her warm. Something to clean the wounds with and disinfect them – vampire's mouths are _filthy_, jeeze. Orange juice or something. And something sweet – cookies, maybe. Have to help replenish the blood... " Cordelia ran out of her limited knowledge of treatment for blood loss and shock, in both worlds, and trailed off, shrugging.

New Gal studied her for long moments, and then nodded abruptly. "You: is that Wilkins' special prisoner?"

"Yes'm," Deputy Dawg One said, from the corridor where he was covering Cordelia, his gun out and in his hand.

"Well? You heard the woman. Snap to, dammit!" New Gal turned carefully to where she could look at him while still keeping Cordelia in her field of vision. "Blankets, hot water, wash cloths – " she pronounced it 'warsh', Cordelia noted, "– and some cookies of some type." New Gal glanced to Cordelia, and said, "No orange juice, sorry. Canned peach juice do it? Or apricot?"

"Both, probably, just to be sure," Cordelia said, nodding. "And maybe some red wine?" She'd heard that wine was good for the blood, somewhere, but couldn't remember if it was true, or just old wives tale...

New Gal nodded, and said, "Fill a couple of mugs with canned peach juice, and canned apricot. Bring the peaches and apricots with, also – don't toss them. And bring a small jug of red wine, too. Liniment, ointment, alcohol – whatever else you need for fixing up wounds. And _now_."

"Yes'm!" Deputy Dawg One said, turning to go. He turned back, holstering his pistol, and said, "Uh, who'll cover her while I'm doing that?"

"I will," New Gal drawled. "Unless you think I'm not up to it?"

"Uh, no." He hustled off.

"Thank you," Cordelia said.

New Gal shrugged. "Should have been done already. Wilkins wants both of you treated special. And kept right, until he says otherwise."

"Right," Cordelia drawled, making a face. "Hey – I can't keep thinking of you as 'New Gal'. You have a name?"

"Yup." New Gal looked amused. "Do you?"

"Uh huh. Cordelia Chase," Cordelia said, giving her the amused look back. "And this is – "

"Ianara Gutierrez, yeah," New Gal said. "Sheridan, Jolina Gail Sheridan. Gail, for short."

"I'd say I'm pleased to meet you, but... "

Gail barked out a laugh, a genuine one, and nodded. "I'll bet. Vampire, huh?" Cordelia had noted that Deputy Dawgs One and Two's eyes had widened at that, but had ignored them. She merely raised an eyebrow and said nothing, and after a moment Gail nodded, and said, "Explains a lot."

"It does." Cordelia looked at her curiously, and said, "Why are you... "

"You mean, how did a nice girl like me get into a business like this?" Gail grinned at her, and said. "Traditional answer is: just lucky, I guess. Real answer? When you're a Negro woman, you have a few choices: wash clothes, keep house, be a maid, or work on your back. Or get married and raise a brood of kids. I hate kids, don't care for housework, I'm not a whore, and I happen to be lucky enough to be good with a gun. So I had another option."

"Grinning Dick _Wilkins_ is a better option?" Cordelia said, incredulously. She heard Deputy Dawg One making choking noises at her choice of nicknames.

"He pays good," Gail said, shrugging. "And I figure he has better longevity prospects than Dude and his friends."

"No. He really, really doesn't," Cordelia said.

"Oh?"

"Uh huh," Cordelia said, nodding. "He seriously aggravated Xander Harris. As well as Vin Garrett. And Rory Harris, most likely. He's a walking dead man right now. He just hasn't figured it out yet."

Gail nodded, studying Cordelia with interest. "I've heard about your man," she said, finally. "And saw him at the Shoot. He's pretty good. I hear he killed six men during that dance at the Double Eagle a few nights ago."

"Plus two sharpshooters and Jack O'Toole and Kyle DuFours tonight," Cordelia said. She didn't mention the four at the roadblock. Well, three and a half – one had been staggering back from Elena's shot.

"Yeah." Gail nodded, putting her left hand on the butt of her pistol. "I'm looking forward to meeting up with him," she said.

"No, you're really, really not."

* * *

"That's actually better than I had hoped for," Jonathan, no _Aaron_, Levinson said. "I'd honestly resigned myself to being afraid she was dead."

"Eaten by a Grue, yeah," Xander said. "Except, probably not, if she meets Wilkins qualifications." Aaron slowly turned red, confirming Xander's suspicions. Xander suppressed a smile.

Hell, it wasn't that many days ago that both he _and_ Cordy met Wilkins requirements. _He_ had no room to talk. Or tease.

"I am gathering that the two of you are well acquainted?" Giles asked.

"We grew up together," Aaron said. "Well, not together, seeing as how I was a town kid, and he and Jesse and Cordelia were ranch kids, but together enough to at least know each other." He looked at Xander, and added, "I was away at the University in Santa Barbara when all that happened and you and Cordy left, but I heard about it when I came back. So, Jack and Kyle are dead?"

"Tonight, yeah. Just before I came here, matter of fact," Xander said, nodding.

"Good." Jonathan nodded back. Err, Aaron. Whatever. "Long overdue."

"My thoughts on it, yeah." The two young men exchanged grimly understanding looks. Xander and Jesse hadn't been the only ones in the area subject to Kyle's viciousness and the O'Toole charms...

"Think you'll be able to get them back?" Aaron asked, quietly.

"Sure as hell gonna try," Xander said. "Because the alternatives where I don't, or where Cordelia _doesn't_ live, aren't a possibility in my world."

Nodding, Aaron bent his head with Giles over the books, and Aaron's calculations again.

Xander sat quietly for a bit, sipping tea – sans brandy now – and studying the two men across from him. Both had their heads bent over a large book, papers spread out over the research table around them... it was a scene that had become so familiar to him in the two years since Buffy had crashed into their lives that it sent a pang through his heart.

Buffy, and Giles, and the monsters and the need to research them had brought Cordelia back into his life, at a point where he'd nearly forgotten that they'd ever been anything _other_ than bitter enemies. Kicking and screaming and complaining bitterly, most of the time, once she'd found out about the reality of the Hellmouth... but Cordelia had risen to the challenge, eventually. Just as she'd risen to every other challenge for most of their lives.

_This_ Giles wasn't his. Theirs. Whatever. But he was close enough to be _their_ Giles father, or brother. About the same age, or possibly a bit older, this Giles had the same wiry hair, the same air of slightly preoccupied befuddlement, and the same sharp and incisive mind and bottomless curiosity.

There was one major difference between the two: _his_ Giles would never listen to _Xander_ on anything important with _this_ one's air of attentiveness and deep regard for Xander's thoughts on a subject. Not until and unless their backs were up to it, and they were well and truly fucked, as with the Judge...

Heh. Circumstances of the meetings and interactions were different. Xander ruefully acknowledged that playing the class clown in their little group for two years, might tend to have had consequences.

Jonathan Levinson's counterpart of this world, time, whatever, was Xander's apparent age here, around twenty-two. And he'd obviously applied himself better than his later day counterpart had – at twenty-two, he was already two years out of the University at Santa Barbara, and a practicing, working accountant. Apparently a sharp research assistant for _this_ Giles, much as Willow had been for _theirs_ back home. And, also apparently, in love with Ampata's counterpart here, whom he'd been seeing romantically for awhile.

Heh. Oh well, no stranger than Xander being in a relationship with Cordelia...

"Quite. And, well done," Giles said, resting a hand on the younger man's shoulder for a moment as he straightened. He pushed his glasses back up from where they'd been slipping down his nose. "I'll have to accept a number of your calculations on faith, as many of the higher maths are not my forte, but what I _can_ check looks to be in order."

"Meaning?" Xander asked, raising his eyebrows.

"The period of the dark of the moon begins in five days, with full dark on the sixth day after today," Giles said, "And there is a major celestial conjunction that occurs over the same time period." Giles sighed, looking suddenly older. "Leaving our Interim Mayor a period of three days from beginning to end where the barriers between worlds are at their weakest, and it will be possible for him to use any of a number of dark rituals to create a- a breach, as it were, between this world and the nether regions at the location of the nexus here. Thereby partially activating the local Hellmouth."

Jonathan – _Aaron_, Xander reminded himself – nodded. "With another, much stronger conjunction occurring in just under a year from now, where a more substantial ritual and sacrifice can complete the activation."

"Just under a year... when the dedication and official founding and establishment of Sunnydale is scheduled to happen," Xander said, a feeling of dawning horror matching his growing awareness and understanding of Wilkins' plans. "And turning this area from a merely Bad Place, into a full blown haunt and feeding ground for monsters, ghasts, ghoulies, and everything dark under the sun."

"Quite," Giles said, nodding. He went to a sideboard in the small den -slash- library -slash- research room, and poured himself a stiff scotch into a highball glass, adding a splash of soda. "Possibly using the dedication and the coinciding mystical conjunction to provide a massive sacrifice of life force for the ritual, whatever it is."

"Dedication, dedication... holy crap," Xander said. He racked his brain furiously, trying to remember bits of Sunnydale and local history he'd mostly slept through in grade school and junior high. "First or second week of June, 1899. There's a riot in Squatters Town and the Camp Town tent city on Dedication Day... something about ill treatment for the laborers on the rail connection? Troops from Fort Halleck get ordered in when the locals are overwhelmed and there's a massacre, and a humungous fire."

Both of the other men gaped at him, blinking. Giles, after a moment, closed his mouth and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He set down his scotch and soda, _very_ carefully, and began polishing the glasses again.

"I shan't ask how you know this," Giles said. "I'll merely assume it to be Council operative knowledge for the moment, and proceed on the assumption that it is correct."

Jonathan – _Aaron_, dammit – swallowed hard, and shook his head. "Me either. I'm afraid to ask. Any idea how many dead?"

"Naw," Xander said, shaking his head. "I'm lucky I know _that_ much."

"Would that do it?" Aaron looked to Giles.

"Well," Giles began cleaning his glasses, scowling, "We'd have to double check the date of the proposed dedication ceremony against mystical conjunctions for next year, but... quite probably. A sufficiently large number of deaths, in conjunction with the associated pain, terror, and horror, c-could create a massive amount of dark energy that a black mage could draw upon and channel."

"Well, you do that," Xander drawled. "Me, I'm going to start looking into setting up a more pragmatic solution."

"Hmm. What do you mean?" Giles frowned at him.

"Wilkins can't perform _any_ rituals of any kind if he's dead two evenings from now," Xander said. "And he already volunteered when he laid hands on Cordy." He looked sharply at the older man, and said, "Unless there's something about him that makes him immune to ordinary death?"

"N-no, I don't believe so," Giles said. "There is nothing within the Council's files on Wilkins that indicates that he is any sort of a combat mage. More... a ritualistic practitioner and demonologist. Therefore, there should be nothing preventing him from being simply k-killed."

"Except for a large number of guns between him and you, Xander," Aaron said.

"Hah. _That_ I can deal with," Xander said, smiling mirthlessly at the other man. "He's running pretty low on guns on his personal payroll now, anyway."

"Well, yeah, but Stillwell and Maitland still have quite a few," Aaron said.

"Got a few in my and Cordy's corner, too," Xander said. "And mine are better. I'm no real slouch either, these days."

"Still," Giles said, thoughtfully, "They do have a large number of armed men. And the last I'd checked, our Marshall has only a small handful, including yourself. Quite a large order for one young man and a mere handful of associates."

Xander grinned, a bit coldly. "There's nothing _mere_ about Dude, Vin, and John T. Chance, Giles. Or Glenn Scott and Kevin Smith, either. And my Uncle Rory's no slouch either, it comes to that."

"Uh huh," Aaron said, nodding. "You should look into some of the area history a bit deeper, Mr. Giles. _Especially_ local residents. They still tell stories about Rory Harris from way back when." Aaron looked at Xander speculatively. "I saw you shoot, you know. At the contest the other day... you were good when we were kids, but you've gotten better."

"_Lots_ of practice. And lots of motivation."

"Hmm. I suppose there's no possibility of simply removing Ianara and Miss Chase from wherever they're being held captive?" Giles said, replacing his glasses and sipping at his whiskey.

Xander sighed. "I wish. But City Hall and the Mayor's Offices, and the County Courts and Jail, are a fortress, pretty much. And they do have plenty of guns to hold out there indefinitely, or just _kill_ the girls if we tried and failed."

"As much as I hate to bring up the possibility," Giles said, sighing, "Wilkins could merely do just that, and sacrifice the young women there where he cannot be reached. Not with the same efficacy, perhaps, but it could work, possibly."

"No." Xander shook his head. "He _can't_," he said, "No matter how much logical appeal it has. He can't afford to let Dude and Chance just hole up in the Marshall's Office until the Federal and State Marshals arrive, along with a troop of California Rangers. And he can't afford to piss off Maitland, either. He _has_ to draw us out where he can get at us and finish us, and he has to at least make a convincing _attempt_ to get Maitland's brat back, and revenge for Stillwell's little brother."

"And he can pack the Mission with enough men to make certain that you can't storm it effectively," Giles said, nodding, "And surround the area with enough in reserve to make certain that none to you survive to make it back to the Marshall's once the exchange is complete. Quite."

"Or make a hell of a try at it, yeah," Xander said. "Once we're all dead, he can make up a convincing story for the Federal and Staties, and the Rangers, and forestall any real investigation."

"Uh huh," Aaron said. "Everyone will be too afraid of Stillwell and Maitland's gunsels, with no one to back them, to say anything against him. It's how he's kept a hold on this town for all these years, until Dude was hired."

"So, he's got to bring Cordy to the Mission, one way or another," Xander said. "And no reason not to bring Ianara with – then just wait there until it's time for his ritual."

"Hrrmm," Giles said, again. He removed his glasses once more. "Well, two days doesn't give us much time for either preventing his ritual, or for a rescue effort, I'm afraid. But knowing when the activation ritual probably may be, and a requirement for it, will help immensely. I suppose that you have a plan?"

"Hah. Calling it a _plan_ is probably generous," Xander said, smiling mirthlessly. "He'll bring Cordy to the exchange. And I'll go in and get her, and kill anything that stands in my way, including Wilkins. Piece of cake."

"Well, I shan't repeat that that seems a rather tall order for one man," Giles said, his voice arid. "No point in being redundant." He stood, and motioned for Xander to follow him to the other end of the room, where there was a table that looked way too cluttered with various bits of mechanical pieces.

Curious, Xander followed him over. The mechanical pieces were odds and ends of gearing and clockwork. And... dynamite? He raised his eyebrows at Giles.

"I certainly hope your confidence on that isn't misplaced," Giles said. "Depending on how you intend to go about this, I may be able to come up with a few small things to be of assistance."

"A bit before the exchange would be helpful," Xander said.

"Quite."

* * *

**.**


	23. The Hundred and Forty-second Fastest Gun

**Chapter Twenty-two: ****The ****H****undred and ****F****orty-second ****F****astest ****G****un in the West...**

* * *

"_Half of what we call madness is just some poor slob dealing with pain by a strategy that annoys the people around him.__"_ ― Miles Vorkosigan

* * *

Xander was surprised, when he thought to look at his new pocket watch upon leaving Giles, how relatively early it still was. Then again... they'd hit town with a bit under an hour left before sundown. And then headed out to deal with Kyle and Jack and their buddies right at about sunset...

And that hadn't taken long.

He really hadn't spent that long at Giles' place either. He hadn't let himself get drawn into a full research session, figuring that he could leave that safely to Aaron and Reginald. Just filling them in, giving a condensed rundown of events, along with some explanations for Giles, and then the discussion on the Hellmouth and Wilkins' probable plans.

No. Not that late at all.

But it's always later than you think...

He worked his way back from Giles' house by the most direct route, not really bothering to keep a low profile. And not because of the three lightly brandied teas he'd had before switching to regular. Those had just barely warmed him, not even dulled the edge of his nerves.

He figured his method of dealing with stress, joking at it, worked a lot better than his dad's method of drinking at it. He just wished he could think of some jokes right now, but not much seemed all that funny.

No... just an acknowledgment that his levels of give a fuck were hitting an all time low, kept him from caring to skulk. He'd almost welcome a run in with a couple of Wilkins, Maitland's, or Stillwell's men. Suicidal? Possibly. But he didn't _feel_ suicidal...

He just had a deep and hopefully accurate feeling down deep in his gut, down where he lived, that it _just_ wasn't his night to die. And a thorough disinclination to let Smiling Dick and his crowd own the streets tonight.

When he crossed the town square between the Mayor's Office and City Hall, and the County Courts and Jail building, he realized he was whistling softly.

When he saw a figure silhouetted in one of the upper windows of the Courts building, he realized that _what_ he was whistling was 'The Ballad of Irving'. Heh. Somehow? Just seemed to fit. He grinned, stopped, and turned to face the window the figure was standing at, touching his hat brim with the barrel of the Winchester.

The figure disappeared from the window, hastily, and that made him laugh out loud.

No one shot at him.

He gave Mister Beauregard the tip of the rifle to the hat brim salute as he ambled down the sidewalk past the front of the Sunnydale Arms, and got a solemn nod back in return. Passing the windows to the restaurant, he caught a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye that made him pause and turn to look more closely...

Shaking his head, he moved on until he reached the front doors to the main lobby.

"Deputy Harris," Eliot Beauregard said. "My deepest condolences and sympathies to you, sir."

"Thank you, Eliot," Xander said. "It is appreciated. And likewise for your porter. Is, by some chance, that who I believe it to be holding court in the restaurant tonight?"

"It is indeed, sir." Beauregard nodded.

"A bit late for supper," Xander said, frowning.

"Indeed, it is," Beauregard said. "However, it is still within the acceptable range for a late dinner, I believe. And our facilities were closed briefly while the Sheriff's and Undertaker's men were seeing to the unfortunate individuals who met with mishap in the bar, delaying dinner hour somewhat."

"Ah. And who might he be sitting table with, perchance? I believe that I recognize a couple of them, but the others elude me at the moment."

Beauregard smiled tightly, and said, "That would be the honorable Edmund Gerrold, Miss Amelia Lawson, and a Mr. William Statler, of the Great Northern Pacific Railways. And I believe the fellow with him, might possibly be a Mr. Phelps with the Pinkerton Agency, although I might be mistaken on that."

"Ah. Thank you," Xander said, nodding. "And I recognize Mr. Stillwell and Mr. Maitland, of course. And Mayor Junior."

"Quite so," Beauregard said, nodding. "Hence my lack of acknowledgment of them for you."

"Quite so," Xander said, smiling. "I do believe that it is only polite of me to stop in, briefly, and extend my regards to such esteemed company."

Beauregard frowned, and his voice dropped to a very quiet level. "Are you quite certain that that is a wise decision, Deputy Harris?"

"Not wise at all, I'm certain. Merely... called for."

Beauregard nodded again, and stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back. He bowed slightly from the neck, and said, "Then I shall speak no more of it. Do enjoy your repast, sir."

"Thank you. I believe I will." Xander smiled, and moved past him to the entrance.

He took a quick inventory before stepping through the doors. He'd shifted the Model '86 to where it was over his shoulder, Africa style, left hand grasping the barrel and fore end. He mentally rehearsed the movements that would be necessary to bring it into play if needed. Cordelia's drilling was tipped back against and over his right shoulder, hand on the pistol grip, and his forefinger outside the trigger guard.

That wouldn't take long at all. Just bring it down, and boom! when it comes level...

And he had Jack's fancy double pistol speed rig draped across his chest, with the butt of the main pistol hanging high to his left hand, and the secondary within reach, cross body.

He wasn't quite sure why he'd stripped it off of Jack's body, except a vague thought that it was too nice a rig, and too nice a pair of six-guns to leave to the coroner or Munroe's people. And they were in .44 Special, like his own... It wasn't his style, and the fancy reinforced, raked back, strapped down speed holster hadn't helped Jack any, but, wah. He wasn't planning to gunfight with it on a regular basis.

He didn't really plan to shoot Wilkins right now, or anyone, really. Wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize Cordelia's health and welfare, well... beyond just what going in here might do.

But Wilson Slade and that Trask guy were sitting at the table behind and to one side of Wilkins and company, Trask looking like a cut rate Lee van Cleef. And Ned Lazenby and Dewell McKay were sitting at another, with Josiah Hedges sitting alone at another.

When you're doing something absolutely insane, it pays to be careful. Things could get awful abrupt, all of a sudden, here.

As he stepped into the lobby and started to angle across for the entrance to the restaurant, Joel Haversham spotted him and his eyes widened. He strode over to Xander, and Harris paused to allow the man to reach him before he went in.

"Ah, Deputy, uh, Harris?" Haversham actually wrung his hands – Xander had never seen anyone actually _doing_ that from nervousness before – and said, "Will there be any trouble, sir?"

"I'm not planning any," Xander said. "Just going to have a quiet word with a few of our prominent local citizens, before retiring for the evening."

"Ah. Excellent, excellent." Somehow, Haversham didn't look reassured. Xander couldn't blame him. "My deepest regrets and apologies for the ah, events of earlier, Deputy Harris."

"You have nothing to regret or apologize for, Mr. Haversham," Xander said. "Wilkins is the only one who does. And he will – just not tonight, I assure you."

With a jerky and nervous looking nod, Haversham stepped back, still wringing his hands. Xander nodded back and went on through.

As he stepped into the restaurant, he noticed he was once again whistling the ballad of the hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West. If only Willow could see this.

She'd be highly amused. And squeaking and peeing her pants from terror, too, no doubt.

* * *

Ned Lazenby was the first to see him as he crossed the main dining room. The aging sharpshooter and Bar-G ranch manager gave a very slight smile and shook his head. McKay did the same, but only his eyes smiled, and he nodded as Xander nodded to both of them. Hedges just gave him an ironic looking nod and kept sipping his coffee.

Holding the cup in his right hand. His gun hand...

Coming to a stop in front of the Royal Table, a couple of steps away, he also nodded an acknowledgment to Maitland and Stillwell, both of whose eyes widened slightly. Maitland gave him a wry looking smile.

"Mr. Wilkins, and company," Xander nodded to the table, smiling a bit lopsidedly. "Evening. No need to stand, or offer me a seat. I doubt I'll be here that long."

"Deputy Harris," Wilkins gave him the bright cheerful politician's smile. "To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?"

Xander ignored him for the moment, and saw his eyes tighten a bit. Well, fuck him. Instead, he nodded slightly to Amelia Lawson, the Owner and Manager of the Bank of Sunnydale.

"Ma'am. I'd tip my hat, but my hands are a bit full at the moment," Xander said. She smiled at him, but didn't reply. He nodded also to the Editor and Owner of the Sunnydale Tribune, presumably the forerunner to the Sunnydale Herald of his time and world. "Mr. Gerrold. A pleasure to see the First Estate engaged in their duties."

"Well, well. And a pleasure it is to see you, young man," Gerrold said around a cigar, leaning back in his chair and eying Xander speculatively. He looked a bit like an elderly Jason Robards, only not quite. But the resemblance was there...

"I believe I asked you a question, Deputy," Interim Mayor Wilkins said. His voice was mild, but his eyes were cold.

"Just stopped in to have a quick word with Mr. Maitland and Mr. Stillwell, sir," Xander said. "My apologies for disrupting your after dinner coffee and drinks, but this shouldn't take but a few moments."

"Well, this should be interesting," Stillwell drawled.

"What can we, or I, do for you, Deputy?" Maitland asked. His voice was soft, and the slight resemblance to an aging Glenn Ford was strong for a moment.

"I - " Xander's eyes narrowed, and the drilling snapped down from his shoulder, level with Wilson Slade's face. "Just a moment, please." Slade froze, half risen from his chair.

Xander cocked his head slightly, examining Slade as though he was a peculiar species of rodent that hadn't yet been classified. The other gunfighter flushed under the scrutiny.

"Sit. Back. Down. Slade," Xander said, his voice mild. "Like I told you: life is full of regrets. Don't add any to what's left of yours. We're still having that talk we've discussed – just not tonight."

Slade stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded slightly. "We will. Bet on it," he said. He eased back into his chair, and settled both hands on top of the table in plain view.

"Apologies," Xander said. "Ma'am? You might ease your chair a bit to the left. I'm not one hundred percent sure what the pattern spread is like at this range." Miss Lawson blanched slightly, and shifted her chair several inches over. "Thank you," Xander said. He leaned the drilling back against his shoulder again, and looked Maitland in the eyes. "I'd like to ask you and Mr. Stillwell to pull your men out from town, and leave this thing rest. There's already been enough death and killing, and we really don't need to add anything to it."

Maitland pursed his lips, and eyed Xander back, thoughtfully, a very slight smile on his lips. Stillwell shook his head, but there was a very faint tone of admiration to his voice when he said, "Sorry. Can't do that."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"They're both the same in this instance, I'm afraid, Deputy," Maitland said. "It's gone beyond that point, now."

"I'm not telling, sir. I'm asking. Please," Xander said, "And that's not a word that I use lightly, not ever. I am really sorry about your youngest brother, Mr. Stillwell. And I'm sorry about your son, sir. But it was a moment of panic, and a drunken accident, and now there's a good man lying at the doctor's office who was only trying to calm down a nasty situation, and a pretty girl dead who was just in the wrong place when a bullet went through. Let it end there, please."

He and Maitland locked eyes for a long moment, and he'd never ever be sure what might have come of that if Wilkins hadn't picked that moment to break in and shatter the possibilities.

"Pardon my confusion, Deputy Harris," Wilkins said, frowning slightly, "But I was under the distinct impression we had an agreement."

"We do," Xander said, meeting Wilkins eyes fully for the first time. "And I'm not breaking it. Whatever happens at this table, we'll do business, as we discussed. Dude and John T. will have a say on that, of course, but I intend to follow through."

"Then I believe that there is nothing to discuss here right now, tonight," Wilkins said. "Good night to you, Deputy." His tone was dismissive and did more than just imply that the discussion was ended.

"Bit more than that," Stillwell said, staring at Xander. "Twelve men died at the Double Eagle that night. And two of Sheriff Munroe's deputies. Plus several men in the street."

"They were interfering with a lawful arrest, sir," Xander said. "Again. Please. Let the State and Federal Marshals sort this all out. They'll investigate thoroughly and Blake Maitland will get a fair trial. Dude will see to that."

"I understand that your young lady shot my young brother, Deputy," Stillwell drawled, his voice and eyes completely unamused.

"She did, sir. Following him shooting two people," Xander said, nodding. "And she shot and killed Bill Corby. _After_ he and Josh Maitland took another young woman hostage at gunpoint."

All the while, Xander had been peripherally aware that the newspaper editor, the bank owner, and the two strangers were watching and following all of this with great interest. The two newcomers held their peace, merely following the discussion without adding to it.

Both were wearing expensive looking suits. The taller and older one slightly resembled an older Joel McCrae, and the other was a seriously fat man with black hair and narrow, cold, and very mean black eyes that completely gave lie to any stereotypes of the jolly fat man. He reminded Xander of someone, but he couldn't place it. No matter. Not important.

The editor, Gerrold, blew smoke from around his cigar, and he looked Xander over shrewdly. "You know, I sent a few wires and did a bit of research after your return and your becoming a minor celebrity with winning the big shoot. Nothing solid that I could discover, but it is rumored that you've killed considerably more than just eight men, over the course of the last four years."

"Considerably more, sir, and I expect the number to be growing," Xander said, smiling. "And, I might say that I'm a bit surprised to see you sitting here at table."

"Oh?" Gerrold raised a pair of thick bushy eyebrows at him, inquiringly. "And why is that?"

Xander shrugged. "The young lady Mr. Stillwell mentioned? She's a Deputy Marshall also, as well as the woman I happen to love. And our esteemed Interim Mayor there and his pet thug kidnapped her earlier tonight and are holding her for surety and exchange for Blake Maitland's release. Just as I'm holding Mr. Wilkins' life in my hand right now as collateral for her well being."

Wilkins smile froze, along with his eyes. _Everyone_ froze in the dining room that happened to be in earshot of that statement. Xander's voice hadn't been loud, but it _had_ cut across the room like a knife blade. Wilkins got a few sharp looks, notably from the railroad man, and the mean looking fat man.

"Is this true, Richard?" Miss Lawson asked him, quietly.

Wilkins never took those cold rattlesnake eyes off of Xander. "Of course not. Merely a jurisdictional dispute," he said. "Miss, _err_, Deputy Chase is under arrest for the wanton killing of Rhonda Kelly, a young woman in my employ."

"Jurisdictional dispute," Xander said. "That's an interesting word for it. Did Miss Gutierrez disappear as a part of a... jurisdictional dispute also?"

"I hope you have proof of these allegations, sir," Gerrold said.

"Naw." Xander shrugged. "Everyone in this town is too terrified of Wilkins, Stillwell, and Maitland to talk about anything."

"Except for you, apparently, son," the railroad man said, softly.

"Me? _I'm_ terrified, sir," Xander said. "I just never let that stop me. Too dumb to stop, I guess."

"That's enough, kid," Lazenby said from near Xander's left elbow, and a bit back. At some point, he, McKay, and Hedges had appeared by the table near him. No matter. He was about done here, anyway. "Let it go for now," Lazenby added.

Xander nodded. He turned his head to look at Maitland and Stillwell again. "Think about what I've said here, sirs. Over in that Marshall's office? Are a bunch of good men who're just trying to do what's right. Let them, and stand away, if you would."

"Sorry, I just can't see that happening," Stillwell said.

Wilkins, his eyes still frozen, said, quietly. "I do hope that you haven't initiated anything that might cause Miss Chase any additional distress."

"I haven't," Xander said, "Because? Anything causes Cordelia _any_ distress, anything at all, and I'll shoot Blake Maitland myself, personally. And _both_ Mr. Maitland and Mr. Stillwell will _know_ that it happened because _you_ provoked it, deliberately." Xander carefully and deliberately touched the barrels of the drilling to his hat brim before lowering it back against his shoulder. "See you at the Mission two nights from now, Dick. _With_ Cordelia alive and well. Sirs. Ma'am."

He let his little escort lead him away from the table and out of the dining room, him backing out all the way while carefully watching the cold eyed Trask and the narrow eyed Slade.

Richard Wilkins the First's frozen gaze did their level best to burn holes in him all the way out, that brightly cheerful grin sending icicles after it all the way.

Scratch that. Willow _wouldn't_ have squeaked and peed her pants. She'd have fainted dead away.

* * *

.


	24. All the Heroes and Legends

**Chapter Twenty-three: All the Heroes and Legends I Knew as a Child...**

* * *

"_If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say th__at__ his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

"Aww, kid, what did you have to go and do that for?" Lazenby said, his voice and expression both faintly disgusted and mildly disapproving at the same time.

Both completely at odds with the very faint smile dancing on the edges of his mouth and in his eyes.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Xander said, shrugging.

McKay shook his head, smiling. "Mister Harris? You have got to be the most completely insane individual it has ever been my fortune to meet, including myself. I'd shake your hand, but both of yours seem to be full at the moment. I consider it an honor to have been privileged to encounter you during your brief stay on this Earth."

"Huh." Xander gave him a look that was honestly puzzled. "Why? Did the three of you bring me out here to take me for a walk and kill me?"

"Hadn't planned on it," Hedges said, his voice tinged with amusement. "Why? Do you think we should?"

"Well... " Xander shrugged. "I'm sure Wilkins would be greatly appreciative."

"Just as well that none of us work for Wilkins, now, isn't it?" Lazenby shook his head again. He settled his long, scoped Winchester comfortably in the crook of his left arm, hand cupping the pistol grip, and pushed his hat back on his head with his right hand.

"Was what you said in there true?" McKay said, his face expressionless. "About Wilkins and your girl?"

"Every word," Xander said, nodding. "He and Trick took her out of the hotel bar with a derringer to her head after we'd finished with O'Toole, Kyle, and Rhonda. And while we were having that... _jurisdictional discussion _with Sheriff Bob that Wilkins mentioned."

"Why did you gun down those three?" Hedges said, looking at him curiously.

"Partly because Jack and Kyle shot Tor Hauer and nearly shot Heidi Barrie for siding with me and Cordy against Jack's wishes, and for them helping out after Stillwell shot Brett and Melody," Xander said. "Partly because it pulled six more guns out from behind Wilkins. And partly because four years ago, Jack and Kyle killed my half brother while they were working their way up to raping Cordelia. But mostly because I finally decided I'd had enough of them."

"Good enough," Hedges said, starting to roll a cigarette. He leaned his Winchester up against his side while he dug out the makings.

"I'm afraid you three have stepped in the middle of something old and nasty that only has a little to do with Maitland and Stillwell," Xander said. "And Wilkins just became a bad horse to back. You might tell your bosses that they're going to need a new political patron in a couple of days."

"Planning to add political assassination to your list?" Hedges asked, lighting his smoke.

Xander shrugged. "Wilkins died the minute he stuck a gun under Cordelia's chin."

Lazenby sighed, looking tiredly off into the night up the street. "Maitland was a real good man, twenty years ago. Still is, mostly."

"I'm sure he is," Xander said. "But Wilkins is anything but."

"C'mon," McKay said. "We'll walk you most of the way to the Marshall's, so no one else gets shot tonight."

Xander nodded, and set off up the street, thinking hard, with the three men walking with and alongside of him.

When they got even up with the Double Eagle, a couple of men lounging on the front veranda stood suddenly. Lazenby moved his right hand to the pistol grip of the long Winchester, and called out to them.

"Stand down over there," he said. "There's nothing here that concerns any of you right now."

"That's the Harris kid," one of them said. "He killed Hightower and Burroughs earlier this evening."

Lazenby nodded. "Just like he almost killed Wilson Slade a little while ago. And just like he'll kill you if I let you reach for that pistol. Now, get back inside that saloon."

Both men stood real still on the veranda, and then, abruptly, took their hands from near their guns and turned and headed inside, grumbling.

"Hightower and Burroughs?" Xander said, his eyebrows going up.

"The two marksmen you shot earlier," McKay said, sounding amused. "Not two of ours, fortunately."

Lazenby grunted. "Hired guns. No great loss. Let's go."

Xander shook his head, bemused. "I keep forgetting that Slade is your Bar-G foreman," he said.

"We know each other and work together," Lazenby said. "Doesn't mean we like each other."

About a long two blocks from the Marshall's office, the little group stopped. "Far as we go," Hedges said. "Old Jules might be a bit twitchy upstairs."

"Might," Xander agreed. He turned to look at the three of them, men that he had no real quarrel with, and even kind of liked.

Men that he might well have to kill in a couple of days.

"You know... " he said, looking at Hedges and McKay, "I understand that you two rode with my Uncle back in the day, up in the Badlands."

Both of them nodded. "Back in the day," McKay said.

"None of this is anything that Rory Harris would have approved of. Then or now," Xander said.

"Times change," Hedges said. "Men change."

"Not that much."

* * *

There was a silence that was as frozen as Wilkins' eyes for long minutes after McKay, Lazenby, and Hedges had escorted Xander Harris out of the dining room. Finally, it was broken by Stillwell.

He turned to the table behind theirs and said, quietly, "Slade, go after them and see what happens. And what the Harris kid does next."

"All right." Wilson Slade stood, his mouth a tight, grim line across his face. "Want me to finish him?" Slade drew his single action – a replacement for the one Xander had taken the other night – and checked the loads.

Stillwell shook his head, his eyes amused. "Naw. Just watch him. No need to die over it."

Slade snorted at that, but gave a jerky nod.

"Go with him," Wilkins suggested to Trask. Silently, Trask nodded and stood, following Slade out of the dining room.

"Well, gosh, that was awfully exciting, wasn't it?" Wilkins said to the table at large, beaming. "Such a forceful young man. And so well spoken."

"Why yes, he certainly is that," the railroad man, William Statler, drawled out. He took a final sip from his coffee cup, finishing it, and tossed his napkin and a few bills on the table. His companion, the fat man, nodded, and followed suit.

"Retiring so early, William?" Wilkins said. "Well, I suppose we can always conclude our business tomorrow. Lunch, shall we say?"

"Retiring, yes," Statler said, nodding. "But I believe that our business _is_ concluded as of now."

Wilkins froze again. He cocked his head, still smiling genially. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that I don't believe that I can in good conscience recommend to the President of my company and our stockholders that we do business with your town, Richard," Statler said, equally genially. "I don't expect that you'll survive long enough to conclude negotiations with us."

Deputy Mayor Finch made choking sounds, and Wilkins shot him a sharp glance, silencing him instantly. Finch stood hastily and excused himself from the table, his face red and suffused.

"Well, I must say that I'm horribly disappointed to hear that, sir," Wilkins said. "And I do believe you are wrong on all counts there."

The fat man turned cold black eyes on Wilkins and smiled. "If I'm any judge of dangerous men and women, and after nearly twenty-three years with Wells Fargo and Pinkerton I do believe that I am, that young man intends to kill you, Wilkins. And he's more than capable of doing so."

Statler nodded. "We'll stick around for a few days and see what happens," he said, smiling. "Perhaps we can do business with your successor." He stood, nodding to the others. "Madame, gentlemen, a good night to you all."

"Well, my goodness," Wilkins said, shaking his head a bit sadly.

"I believe I'll say my good nights as well, Richard," Amelia Lawson said, standing. The newspaper editor stood with her, smiling around his cigar.

"I'll escort you, if you don't mind. I feel a need for some fresh air," Edmund Gerrold said, taking the cigar out of his mouth. "And I think I have some editing to do to tomorrow's front page for the Tribune."

Wilkins looked sharply at him. "I would be very careful what you choose to put into print, Edmund. Libel can be such an unnecessarily ugly word."

"Oh, I always am, Richard, you know that," Edmund said. He offered his arm to Miss Lawson and they strolled away from the table.

For a brief moment there was something naked and ugly that surfaced in Wilkins face as his gaze followed the pair, before it submerged again, and he returned to his pleasantly smiling aplomb.

"Have to say I'm extremely disappointed in that," Maitland said, quietly. "We need that rail head connecting us to Oxnard-Ventura and Santa Barbara, as well as Bakersfield and points beyond. Well, at least if we want to continue to grow here."

"Quite," Stillwell said. "The days of cattle drives and ore wagons are long past."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, gentlemen," Wilkins said. "I'm sure that in a few days when Mr. Statler sees just how wrong his prediction is, he'll be back to negotiations in a jiffy."

"I do hope you are correct on that, Richard," Maitland said. Finch returned to the table, apologizing under his breath and sliding back into his seat.

"Oh, I am, believe me," Wilkins said, staring the other man in the eye. "Are your men ready?"

"Hell, they have been," Stillwell said, nodding. "But we still don't have enough firepower to storm that jail."

"Especially not with Bishop watching my boy with that ten gauge," Maitland said, his eyes hard.

"Not what I have in mind," Wilkins said. He turned to the Deputy Mayor and said, "Arthur? Go find Mr. Trick and bring him to meet me at the County Building, in the subbasements."

Arthur Finch paled slightly, and he swallowed hard "Yes sir," he said. he scrambled out of his seat, hastily, and began to head out of the dining room.

"Don't do anything we'll regret, Richard," Maitland said. "I _do_ believe that that young woman's health is distinctly tied to yours."

"And to ours, unless I miss my guess," Stillwell said, smiling. Maitland nodded.

"Not what I have in mind, gentlemen," Wilkins said, coldly. "We can't afford to have Dude Morgan and Deputy Chance still holed up and alive when the State and Federal Marshalls arrive. She's our only means of drawing them out." He shook his head, smiling again, and said, "No, I have something else in mind. Have your men ready to go. I'll send word."

Maitland raised an eyebrow, and Wilkins lifted a hand, smiling again. "Not a hair on that young woman's head will come to harm between now and during or after the exchange, I assure you. Just make sure that your best are prepared to make certain that young Mr. Harris and the rest don't make it back to the Marshal's offices after." He sighed, "Of course, if Miss Chase should happen to catch a bullet in the proceedings at that point, it would be most regrettable, but these things happen."

Maitland smiled back, coldly. "Just make certain that Harris dies, should that happen. I truly believe that that young man doesn't like you."

* * *

Cordelia examined her cards and sighed. Lousy hand, even for points only spades. And she really didn't have her mind on the game, anyway. Across the table from her, leaning her chair back slightly, Sheridan noticed her distraction and smiled.

Ianara stirred fitfully, and Cordelia glanced to the lower bunk, frowning slightly.

With some occasional advice from Gail, Cordelia had managed to get the girl's wounds cleaned and disinfected, and patched. Girl, hell... Ianara was as old as Cordelia's twenty-one apparent years, even if Cordelia did feel closer to a hundred these days, and ancient. She'd managed to coax the young woman into drinking all of the fruit juice, and all of the large mug of wine with the bulk of the fruit. And had insisted she eat at least part of the meal Sheridan had brought.

Now Ianara lay sleeping fitfully, wrapped in a pile of blankets. Not exactly warm and cozy, but better. And it would have to do.

Sheridan had also insisted that _Cordelia_ eat the meal she'd been brought. And, after a few bites, Cordelia had discovered she was ravenous and had wolfed it down hungrily, wishing for more.

What was it Xander had once said, when channeling his Soldier Boy personae? Eat when it's there, sleep when you can, and smoke 'em when you've got them – you never know when you'll get another chance.

Something like that.

The two deputies sitting watch outside in the corridor scrambled hastily to their feet, one of their chairs going over with a clatter.

Wilkins stood outside the cell, with a smirking Trick on one side, a sweaty and nervous looking Bob Munroe on the other, and a twitchy looking Deputy Interim Mayor Finch somewhat behind them.

Cordelia eased back her chair and stood to face Wilkins, not as hastily and with a great deal more dignity than the two deputies. She arched an eyebrow and waited.

_'Oooh. Not a single hint of a smile,'_ Still Quiet said, softly. _'Mayor McRattlesnake looks _pissed_.'_

"Well, I must say," Wilkins said pleasantly, after a few long moments, "Your young man certainly is an _enterprising_ young fellow. I almost admire that."

Cordelia kept her peace, sending her other eyebrow arching up after the first. She waited.

"I wonder if he'd be amenable to a position on my staff?" Wilkins said, almost musingly. "I could definitely find useful work for a young man with his qualities."

"I expect," Cordelia said, "that Xander would probably rather cut his own throat than to work for you."

"That can be arranged," Trick said, his voice mild.

"You're probably right, young lady," Wilkins said, resuming his cheerful and genial smile. "A pity, that. Golly, it's so hard to find young people willing to actually make something of themselves in these times."

Those eyes were flat, cold, and absolutely without pity or humanity. Not the slightest trace...

_'Oh, Xander,'_ Still Quiet said. _'What did you _do_ to this man recently?'_

Cordelia resisted an urge to swallow hard and look away. Never show fear, no matter how much of it you feel.

And no matter if the _fear_ was outright pissing down your leg terror.

"Xander _has_ made something of himself," Cordelia said, carefully. Her voice sounded hollow and distant to her own ears.

"I'm sure," Wilkins said, nodding. Without removing his eyes from hers, he said, "Arthur. Go find Maitland and Stillwell and have them get what men they can spare and have them meet with Bob and his men. They are to leave enough to continue investing the town and Marshall Morgan's office. Bob: gather up all of your deputies, except for enough to guard City Hall and the County Building here, and meet with those. And then go and... commandeer the Mission."

'_Morgan?_' Still Quiet said, musingly, '_Who the hell is Marshall Morgan?_'

Cordelia let the inner voice slip past her mental awareness: she was concentrating too hard on not missing anything else that Wilkins or the others might say...

"Yes sir," Deputy Mayor Alan – no, _Arthur_ – Finch said. He left so fast Cordelia expected to see a cartoon vapor trail behind him. Munroe left slower, glaring nastily at Cordelia.

He still had that nasty bruise and cut across his face, and was still walking a bit carefully...

"And what do you have for me," Trick said.

"Ah yes, Mr. Trick." Wilkins nodded. "Do be a good fellow and go and locate Mr. Trask and Mr. Marsh. We're relocating as soon as Bob sends word, or Maitland does. Have them... meet us at the stables here at the County Building."

"Sir," Trick said. He inclined his head and left, smiling slightly.

"You." Wilkins looked at Sheridan, and said, "You and these two young deputies here, get Miss Chase ready to travel. And Miss Gutierrez, as well."

"Sir."

"You can't do that!" Cordelia practically exploded. "She's so not _even_ ready to be moved," she said, hotly, glaring at him.

"Well, gosh," Wilkins said, and Cordelia's breath caught in her throat. "Ready or not, she's going to have to be. And I'll have no more lip from you, young woman."

"Sir. I have to agree with Deputy Chase," Sheridan said.

"I don't believe that I asked for your advice, Miss Sheridan," Wilkins said. "It isn't wanted, nor appreciated. Just... Get. It. Done." He spun on his heel and stalked away from the cells.

Gail Sheridan sighed. "You heard the man," she said, turning her head to Cordelia. "Start getting her up and ready."

Cordelia glared at her. "You _can't_," she said, almost desperately. "She needs at _least_ a night's sleep to get some strength back, dammit."

"I can. I will," Sheridan said. "Like the man said, advice is neither wanted or appreciated. Just do it."

"Crap." Cordelia said, shaking her head. "Xander... _what_ did you _do_?"

"Oh? How do you figure?" Gail glanced at her, curiously.

"Hah. Only Xander Harris can send someone into a cold fury like that," Cordelia said, "And make them so furious they can't see straight. I should know – he's done it to _me_ often enough."

She eyed the other woman speculatively, and thought about the knife in her sleeve and the other in her boot...

_'Don't do it, Chase,' _Still Quiet warned, from deep inside. _'You _don't_ want to try this one with a knife. I'm not sure you want to try her with a gun. Wait. __Hide and w__atch.'_

Cordelia sighed, and went to start rousing Ianara and getting her ready.

* * *

Chollo met Xander at the front gate, opening it just enough for him to slide through. "Expected you a bit earlier," he said, mildly.

"Had some business to take care of," Xander said. "Vince and Stein make it in?"

"Yup," Chollo said. "Inside right now."

"Where the hell have you been?" Dude practically exploded as soon as he and Chollo walked into the office.

"Out." Xander said, smiling. He held up a hand in a stop gesture before Dude could rip off his head and jump down his throat. "Had to see a man. And then a I paid a short visit to Maitland and Stillwell at the hotel."

Chance looked at him sharply. "They still alive?" Dude shook his head, looking disgusted.

Xander nodded. "Just had a few words. Asked them nicely to reconsider and pull out – mentioned that Wilkins was a losing horse with bad prospects, now."

"Oh? And just how did they take to that?" Dude said.

"Hah. Wilkins? Badly," Xander said. He set his rifle and Cordelia's drilling on the side table-credenza thing, and pulled Jack's rig over his head and set it next to them. "Maitland... might have gone better if Wilkins had kept out of it. Stillwell? Not receptive."

"Not surprised," Dude drawled out. "He kinda doted on that worthless little brother of his."

Xander nodded, and cast about, looking for the cleaning kit. Glenn stood up with it in his hand.

"I'll get those," he said. "You sit down and take a load off, kid."

Xander nodded his appreciation to Glenn, and headed over to the chair across from Kevin while Glenn took over his at the cleaning table. He grinned at Vince, and gave Stein a look that made the older man glance away.

"Lucky you weren't killed," John T. said.

"Naw. Wasn't my night to die," Xander said, smiling slightly.

"You sound awful sure of that, son," Chance told him, those faded blue eyes boring into his.

Xander shrugged. "Lazenby, Hedges, and Dewell McKay had every chance to gun me down, and didn't. Instead, they hustled me out of there, and escorted me almost to the front gates so no one else would shoot me while we talked."

Chance nodded. "McKay was a good man, once. Hedges never was, but he was always a bit strange."

"I think McKay still is," Xander said. "He didn't seem happy when he heard me tell the Banker Woman and Editor Gerrold about Cordelia."

"All right," Dude said. "That's it. You did good, but no more crazy chances like that. Hear me?"

"I hear you," Xander said. "Doesn't matter – the chances only get crazier from here. For all of us."

"Oh? How's that?' Vince said, raising an eyebrow.

Xander let that pass for the moment, and looked at Dude. "You really think they'll let us hold out in here until the troops get in from Sacramento? Or that we can?"

Chance nodded. "We learned a lot from Rio Bravo, and El Dorado. We have enough supplies for a month, and a well in the back courtyard, with pipe run in here."

"Won't work."

"How do you figure?" Dude raised his hands, palms out. "Hold on. We're going to get your girl back. But we can't let Maitland go, and let Wilkins, Stillwell, and Maitland keep a stranglehold on this town."

"I agree... " Xander looked up at Stein. "You say there's a tunnel from the Mission to the County Building and Mayor's office?"

"Yes," former Deputy Stein said, nodding. "And, no. It has a stout barred gate, always guarded by at least two shotguns. And if you do get past, someone will kill that girl before you reach her. Sorry."

Xander nodded, seeing Vince scowl and Chance shrug. "Puts a fine point on _that_." He met Dude's eyes evenly, and said, "As to how I figure? We can't _not_ make that rendezvous, Dude."

"I'm listening," Dude said, quietly.

"Remember the Gorch Brothers?" Xander asked. John T. nodded slowly. "Because," Xander said, "in about five days or six, Mayor Grinning Dick is going to going to sacrifice Ianara Gutierrez and use her to start something that will end with him making this town a lair and feeding ground for things like them, and Trick, and worse."

Chance swore, fluently and at length. Xander would have joined him, except he didn't think profanity would help...

"And he'll sacrifice Cordelia to whatever it is he worships, and use her to power it, whatever he's doing," Xander said. "He has no intentions of making that exchange and letting us live through it."

Dude stared at him, and Stein cursed and turned pale. "And you _know_ this how?"

"I just do, Dude," Xander said, leaning forward, his voice and gaze intense and deadly earnest. "And there's a man I know here who can confirm it."

"Who?" Vince said, pushing his hat back on his head.

"Man who works for an organization in Great Britain that deals with things like Trick, and this, or at least tries to," Xander said. "I... we, met a few while we were traveling."

There. Not quite the truth, but not a _lie_, either. Xander and Cordelia _had_ met Giles' counterpart in _their_ Sunnydale, and they sure as _hell_ had traveled. A long, long way, too...

"Dude," Xander said, brown eyes locked onto Dude's cold, tired blue ones. "Wilkins can't afford to let us live, and you know it. Or Cordelia. And he can't afford to let us hole up in here... even if he owns people all the way to the Governor's mansion, and on the State Legislature, which I'll bet either he does or Maitland and Stillwell do – "

"– They do," both Glenn and Stein said almost simultaneously. Xander nodded, but he didn't release Dude's gaze to glance over.

"Wilkins can't _afford_ to have a delegation of State and Federal Marshals and California Rangers and State Police come in and do a thorough investigation of this mess, Dude," Xander said, quietly, "There's no telling _what_ they'd find – but it'll be something even _his_ contacts will blanch at covering up."

Vince whistled softly.

"What makes you think he won't just kill her, before the meet?" Dude asked, just as quietly.

"He can't," Vince said. "He knows if he can't show her, we'll just turn and shoot our way out of there and wait and go after him at our convenience. He _has_ to have her there, alive."

Xander nodded.

"I don't suppose you have a plan to go with all this intensity, son," Chance drawled.

"Sure." Xander smiled, nodding. "We show up, you guys deal with the goons, and I go in and get Cordy, and put a bullet between Wilkins' eyes. He doesn't do any rituals anywhere, anyhow, any when, after that."

Dude snorted laughter.

"Yeah. It's the _how_ parts I'm still a bit fuzzy on," Xander said, grinning without mirth.

* * *

.


	25. A Place for Everyone

**Chapter Twenty-four: A Place for Everyone, and Everyone in Their Place...**

* * *

"_The longer I live the less future there is to worry about.__"_ ― Ashleigh Brilliant

* * *

They gave Cordelia a rather placid bay mare that looked like she was at least part draft horse, and not real fast. Or real active, either. And they tied her hands in front of her, and tied them to the saddle horn of the roper saddle she was sitting, after she'd managed to get herself on board. She made it more difficult to do with her hands tied than it really was, just in case. She wasn't sure anyone was fooled, but, hey – you never knew.

Maybe an hour had passed since Wilkins had ordered Sheridan to get them ready to move. Possibly two. Wilkins wasn't on a horse, naturally. He was seated in a stylish hansom with a pretty bay horse and a driver. Coachman?

Ianara was still a bit unsteady, and someone boosted her up onto the horse behind Cordelia. She held on with her arms around Cordelia's waist, shivering and casting nervous glances at Trick. Ianara could _really_ stand to ride in that buggy, not on horseback, but then again – she'd probably just as soon _not_ sit next to Mayor Psycho Dick.

There was a burst of gunfire off across town a bit, toward the Mission.

No, not toward, Cordelia reminded herself. _At_ the Mission.

"Madre de dios," Ianara said quietly, into Cordelia's ear with her head laid against Cordelia's back.

"It's all right," Cordelia said, doing her best to project all of the certainty that she wasn't feeling... "We'll get out of this. Believe me." She could feel the other girl's head moving, nodding against her back, but she couldn't tell if Ianara believed her or not.

Hell, she couldn't tell if she believed herself.

Sheridan pulled herself easily into the saddle of a nice looking splash buckskin gelding with white stockings, covering Cordelia with the muzzle of a short barreled Winchester carbine – almost as short a barrel as Vin's mare's leg, but with a full length stock.

She had a pair of rifle scabbards like Xander did on her saddle, one holding what looked like some kind of single shot, and made for a scope, and the other jutting up from the front of the saddle and showing the butt of a Winchester '95, also scoped. There was a scabbard and harness rig of some sort over her back, presumably for the extra short carbine. Kind of like the one Bruce Campbell had in that movie Xander liked.

The burst of gunfire was followed by sporadic, scattered shots that died away into silence.

After a brief wait that seemed to drag out much longer than it probably was, a pair of horses cantered into the small stables compound behind the County Building. A middle aged deputy, followed by Dewell McKay on his pretty roan.

McKay's icy blue eyes swept across Cordelia and Ianara with no hint of recognition, and she shivered.

_'Very pretty man,' _Still Quiet said, _'But he does give one the pure shivers... '_

The deputy nodded to Wilkins, and Trask – there was another one made of shiver stuff – looked disinterestedly at McKay and said, "Why are you here, McKay?"

Wilkins looked at him curiously as well, as McKay glanced over with equal disinterest, and said, "Maitland sent me to help escort. I'm not a deputy, and not much of a one for shooting clergy."

Wilkins shrugged, and favored him with one of the meaningless, cheerful smiles.

"I don't recall that we needed your help, McKay," Trick drawled, looking over at him contemptuously.

_'Oooh. I wouldn't _ever_ look at that man like that,'_ Still Quiet said. _'He might take exception. Suddenly and loudly.'_

Yup. Cordelia agreed. Not ever.

"Harris, or Dude, or Chance happens across this little procession, and you will," McKay said, smiling lazily. "You're good, Trick, you and Trask. Just not _that_ good."

Trask's eyes narrowed. "And you are?" he said.

McKay smiled again, and rested the butt of that long barreled Winchester '73 against his thigh, pointing up. "Good enough," he said. "And better than most."

Cordelia had a sudden flash of memory of Rory saying that McKay once rode with him, Rand, Linc, Hedges, and John T. Chance in the Badlands, way back when. She shivered again. Rory Harris hardly ever talked about the Dakotas, but from what he had said over the years... it had had its ugly and abrupt points.

_'And that was from a man who once rode back into Santa Barbara with seventeen bodies draped over saddles behind him,'_ Still Quiet said. _'You just have to _wonder_ what was ugly enough that he doesn't talk about it much...'_

Cordelia didn't have to wonder, not really. She was suddenly reminded of a leopard she'd once seen at a Safari Park, while with her parents. Draped lazily along a tree limb, relaxed and careless, and watching you with those flat golden eyes that promised that it could go from a dead sprawl to sudden, lethal movement in a heartbeat if it wanted to.

It just didn't happen to want to, right then.

McKay had eyes like that, and that kind of relaxed, lazy indolence...

"Well," Wilkins said, sounding chipper and watching his lieutenants bristle at McKay with something like amusement. "More the merrier. Tell your boss I do appreciate the gesture."

They set off, Sheridan never taking her eyes or her gun muzzle off of Cordelia, Trick falling in behind them.

McKay fell in on their other side, his eyes watchful and ever moving. Cordelia had the distinct impression, after a bit, that those eyes were paying equal attention to the rest of the escort, and measuring and calculating...

But she couldn't be sure, and it wasn't something she wanted to bet on.

After a time of meandering through the back streets, they came upon the wall paralleling the Mission grounds, and then, finally, around to the front. Without incident... and Cordelia wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed by that.

The sound of Xander's long rifle taking people out of saddles _would_ have been awfully welcome.

Stillwell and Maitland left Sheriff Fat Bob arguing with a group of priests, or monks, or whatever, and rode over to meet them. Maitland looked her and Ianara over, and then McKay over, with a peculiar, slight smile, and nodded.

"McKay."

Dewell touched his hat brim with the barrel of the '73, a gesture so much like Xander's that Cordelia's breath caught in her throat.

"Yes," Wilkins said, "Your man was good enough to join us. Thank you for thinking to send him."

"Ah." Maitland nodded, still smiling slightly. "Not a problem. Pleasure was all mine."

"Well," Grinning Dick said, doing just that, "Let's get inside and out of the night air, shall we?" He cut his gaze over to Cordelia and her companion, and added, "Once my people get these two settled, and we're all settled in, we can get down to business and plan our next act."

Someone jerked on the lead rope of the part draft horse, and they rode into and through the Mission gates, past bodies.

And in the company of monsters.

* * *

A burst of gunfire came from off across town a bit, toward the Mission, followed by sporadic, scattered shots that died away into silence.

"Wonder what's going on out there," Chollo said. He crossed to the office window, pulling open the little slit cover in the shutter to peer out into the night.

"Wilkins consolidating his ground, no doubt," Chance said.

Stein had left a while ago, through the back, after stating that he had a couple of fellow deputies he was sure of. Maybe three, or possibly as many as four. Deputies that he thought had as many doubts about Wilkins and what Mayor Dick was doing lately as Stein had developed...

Around three hours had passed since Xander's little discussion with Maitland, Wilkins, and Stillwell at the hotel; counting two since his arrival here, according to the clock above the poker table. Couldn't prove it by him. He was pretty sure the clock was broken, despite the concessional movement of the hands. Make it five or six since he and Cordelia had gotten back to town, and things had started to go all to crap on him.

Glenn had done a real nice job with the drilling, his Winchester, and the other guns.

Xander had gone and gotten his concealment rig and shoulder holster from his saddle pack, and was loading and assembling Jack's two pistols in preparation. Preparation for... whatever, and whenever. Whatever else Jack was, he'd had nice guns. One a seven and a half inch barreled target sighted Colt style single action, the other a five inch Colt style, with a bird's head grip, and both with figured walnut grips. Off brand maker, like his Hamilton-Grovers, and much more nicely fitted and finished than one of the Colonel's revolvers. No disparagement to Colt intended. Just... nicer. Made some place down in Texas by an outfit called Lone Star Arms, whoever that was.

The long barreled one fit his shoulder holster, mostly. A bit shorter than his long Grover, but the spring clips held it securely, and enough of the barrel went into the muzzle pouch to hold. The bird's head fit his high ride concealment holster just fine, despite being a half inch shorter than his short Grover.

Heh. Not the _first_ time that Jack had donated a gun to the cause. He remembered his counterpart from here lifting a nice Hamilton-Bowen single-action in .44 S&W Long out of Jack's holster after laying him out cold and thought-to-be-dead in Reverend Doherty's church, way back when... he'd worn and used it all over the Nevada and Arizona territories until he'd acquired the two Hamilton-Grovers from the collection of a bad guy rancher who hadn't needed them any longer.

The Hamilton-Bowen was still tucked away in a saddle-pack, Xander recalled.

And Jack wasn't just 'thought-to-be-dead' this time. Ah, well. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. Really.

Xander whistled softly, and tossed Vince his Threepersons holster when he glanced up. "Here you go: beats sticking your new handgun through your belt until you can get yourself one for it. I _do_ want it back."

Vince caught it and smiled slightly. "Well, sure. And much obliged."

Xander nodded, and then looked up sharply as a brief pounding came from the back.

Finney yelled out, "I'll check it."

Chollo called back to him, "_I'll_ check it. _You_ stay watching the front." He shook his head and headed out of office toward the back door.

Dude looked at John T. and raised an eyebrow.

"Well don't look at _me_," Chance said. "_I_ didn't send out for food this time."

Chollo came back leading a tired and dusty Heidi Barrie. "You didn't. It's for him," he said, jerking his thumb at Xander.

Heidi glared. "Her," she said, "_It_ is a _her_, Cactus."

"Sorry, ma'am," Chollo said, shaking his head and smiling. "Hard to tell under all that trail grit." He looked to Dude and nodded. "I'll put away her horse and rub it down and feed it."

Xander snorted. "Hell, don't be so hard on him, Didi," he said. "Always thought you were more man than Kyle."

Heidi glared at him in turn and snorted back. "And like _that's_ a hard thing to be?" Pausing a moment, she raised her eyebrows and gave Xander a meaningful look. "Speaking of... ?"

Vince glanced up. "Dead."

Xander nodded. He looked Heidi over. She had on a black shirt, a short, waist length dark brown denim jacket in addition to her brown leather jeans and knee high moccasin style boots, and was wearing a plain, oxblood gunbelt with an ivory gripped Colt and Remington pistol, left and right respectively, low on her hips, in addition to her shoulder rig, in what Xander had always thought of as Patton holsters. With tie-down straps and buckled down, natch. Waist belt full of forty-four forties. And a _lot_ of trail dust, as Chollo had noted. _And_ she looked like she was as close to falling over from exhaustion as you could get, and still not.

"Ok, so, what the _hell_ are you _doing_ here?" Xander said. "You're _supposed_ to be watching the family, and hovering over Tor's sickbed, wench."

"Elli fixed him up and decided it was safe to move him to Cord's in a wagon, if they were careful," Heidi said, shrugging. "And Rory took the women and kids over there also, with enough hands to guard the bank here if they cared to. Or rob it." She paused. "Not needed, so I came down for a piece of Wilkins. And to help Cordy watch your back, Harris." Xander winced.

Chance nodded. "You'll pardon us, Miss Barrie, if we don't trouble ourselves to save you one."

"I'm sure there'll be just an ample supply of targets. Seems to be that kind of town," Heidi said. She paused, then added. "Can I use one of those lovely Winchesters? Pretty please?"

Chance smiled at her, looking bemused. "Why certainly. They are spares. But do treat them kindly, Miss," he said. "They've had a long life, and they've been hard put to on occasion." He motioned to Dude to get her one of the blued large loop '92's from the low rack behind his desk.

"Naw," Kevin said. "Here you go." He tossed her his new rifle, from the Double Eagle shootout. She caught it out of the air and grinned. "Belonged to a fellow who doesn't need it any more, and has only been fired a half a dozen times in anger. On alternate Sundays."

"_Sweet_ rifle," she said. "Doesn't need it any more, huh?"

"He decided to go out of the rifle shooting business," Glenn said, his voice dry. "Permanently."

Heidi grinned at him, and winked. "I'll treat it like something of Tor's that I'm rather partial to."

Xander made a face and said, "Eeew. For Zeus' sake, Heigh-ho, _clean_ it afterward, then."

Dude frowned at him. "I've noticed you swear by a lot of old deities and myths, but very seldom by God. Why is that, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Don't believe in God," Xander said, shrugging. "I was possessed by a hyena avatar once, and a soldier through an act of Janus, and I've _seen_ people call on Hecate and get answered. I _know_ the myths and _gods_ exist. _God_, I'm not so sure about."

"And his uncle Rory wouldn't let him take the Lord's name in vain when we were kids," Heidi said.

"That, too." Xander winked at her, grinning.

"You don't have a rifle, Barrie?" Vince asked.

"Nah. Not that I can't use one, obviously, but Tor always handled the rifle work," Heidi said. "Never got around to getting one. 'Til now," she added, winking at Glenn.

Xander nodded. "Aside from that old .32-20 Burgess of yours from when we were kids," he said.

"Speaking of, and where is Cordy?" Heidi said, cocking her head at him. "Don't _think_ I didn't catch that wince when I said her name earlier, Xan." She studied at him curiously.

Xander sobered in a hurry, and the grin slid off of his lips like it was on rails. He told her, in short, terse sentences.

"Crap. And I was looking forward to that foursome, too." Heidi's eyes narrowed. "Want me to go scout the County Building and Mayor's place and see if I can turn her up?"

"No." Xander's eyes narrowed back at her. "I want you to find a blanket and some place to curl up in for the next eight to ten hours," he said. "You look like _you_ were ridden hard and put away wet and dusty, not the horse."

"You're the boss, Boss," she said, nodding. Another flurry of shots came from outside and partway across town, and Heidi cocked her head, listening, and frowned. "What's all that shooting going on out there, anyway?"

Glenn shrugged and took a sip of coffee. "Dunno for sure."

Dude glanced at her, "Was kind of hoping you could enlighten us."

"Nope. Heard it while I was sliding through to here, but didn't go and investigate."

Dude nodded, and shrugged as well. "Ah well. Hey, here you go," he said, tossing her a star. She caught it out of the air and looked at him curiously. "Wear that to go with your new rifle."

"Wow." Heidi looked down at the badge, blinked, and then looked back up at Dude with a broad grin. "Never had one of these before. Never thought I'd wear one, either."

"Do try and be careful with it, Barrie," John T. said. "We would purely hate to lose you like we did our last female deputy."

"Yeah." Dude said. "We lose any more, and I'm going to have to rethink this whole feminine employment thing we started."

* * *

Xander went with her to find blankets and a bedroll, ostensibly to help her find a place to sack out. While they were digging a spare, clean bedroll and some blankets out of stores, he looked over at her.

"Actually, what I want you to do – _after_ you catch up on your sleep – is to slip out like you did in, and take a message to Uncle Rory for me. On the quiet side, if you would."

She blinked at him, and then nodded, smiling. "Don't think Marshall Dude would approve of you calling in a family feud?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Something like that."

She nodded. "Yeah. And, naw. I know someone I can trust who can slip in and out as well as I can," Heidi said. "Me, I'm gonna stick to your back and make sure it doesn't sprout holes, since Cordy can't."

Xander's eyebrows lifted at her. "Oh? And who might that be?"

"Gunn's daughter, Bianca," Heidi said. "She's almost as quiet as Tor, and she goes in and out of town all the time on the stable's business. No one will think twice."

"Not sure I like the idea of involving a kid."

"Kid, hell," Heidi said, snorting. "She's damned near the same age Cordy was when you two took off for parts unknown. Only a couple years shy of that, anyway."

"All right," Xander said, thinking. "If you're sure Gunn won't object."

"Yup." Heidi nodded. "If you'll hold the back door for me, I'll slide out and in after breakfast and give it to her. Write down what you want Rory to get."

Xander nodded again, his gaze distant. "All right," he said, again. "Then I might have you scout tomorrow night, since you're staying. Deputy."

"Aww."

Heidi paused, looking at him seriously for a long moment. She bit her lower lip, and then said, "I was joking about the foursome thing, right?" Xander nodded, and she added, "But if you want someone to warm your back tonight, Tor would understand."

Xander blinked at her, then smiled slightly and lopsidedly. "No." He reached out a hand and trailed his fingertips along her cheek. "Cordy _might_ understand, too, _maybe_. But _I_ wouldn't."

Heidi nodded. "You're the boss, Boss. But it would have been fun."

* * *

.


	26. My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys

**Chapter ****Twenty-****five: ****My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys..****.**

* * *

"_Consensus Reality: Useful term for the purported world in which the majority of modern sane people generally agree that they live – as opposed to the worlds of, say, Forteans, semioticians or quantum physicists.__"_ ― Turkey City Lexicon

* * *

Xander had ended up sacking out in a lower bunk across from Heidi's in one of the cells in the back. He'd barely had enough energy to wave and say a quiet good night to Bishop, and to glare at young Maitland, just for practice, before he was out on his way down to the blankets.

He'd woken once, some time before dawn to discover that someone had pulled off his boots and gunbelt for him and covered him up. He grunted, and rolled over and fell back to sleep.

Heidi had gone out just past dawn, and had stayed out for three hours. Xander hadn't been able to hold the back door for her surreptitiously... Dude had caught him and Chollo letting her slip back in, and had glared disgustedly at all three.

"I'm not even gonna bother chewing you out, Barrie," Dude growled, "Mostly because I don't think you'd care. But sooner or later, you and this yay-hoo here you seem to hero worship are going to get your damned heads blown off."

Heidi nodded and bit her lower lip, looking serious. "I _promise_ I won't come crying to you when that happens, Unca Dude."

"Oh, har har," Dude said. "Well? What did you find out while you were out risking your neck?"

Heidi pulled a folded and rolled up morning edition of the Tribune from her back pocket, silently mouthing 'gone' to Xander while Dude's eyes were on the paper. He nodded, and went to read over Dude's other shoulder, across from Chollo, at the latter's low whistle.

Xander let out one of those himself, after a few minutes, low and heartfelt. "Damn."

Chollo nodded. "Mayor Rattlesnake isn't going to like that, not at all."

"Nope. Not one single tiny bit," Xander said. Edmund had done himself proud, following Xander's little visit and bombshelling.

The front page had a double story on the shootout at the Sunnydale Arms again, with a bit more on them taking out the sharpshooters and on Xander's follow-up visit, later. But the juicy part... without ever crossing the line into libel or beyond speculation, he'd printed a rather pointed editorial speculating on the arrest of Deputy Marshall Cordelia Chase for 'unspecified jurisdictional disputes' following the shooting of O'Toole, Rhonda, and Kyle. And a bit of speculation on reasons and the fact that, apparently, Deputy Chase was being held without bail or hearing, and without benefit of attorney.

The other side of the front page ran a lengthy article and interview with Mr. Statler on the sudden withdrawal of Great Northern Pacific from negotiations to build the connecting spur, and invest in the new train station's completion.

It wasn't hard to gather that Mr. Statler didn't like Wilkins at all...

"Damn." Chollo looked at Xander. "What did you _say_ during that little discussion?"

"Uh... " Xander shrugged. "I might of kinda mentioned that Wilkins and Trick had kidnapped Cordelia at gunpoint from in front of me, Vince, and Sheriff Bob, and that he was holding her as collateral to exchange for Maitland Junior... Uh, in front of Statler, the Pinkerton guy, Edmund, and the banker lady. Oh. And that Wilkins was a bad risk because I just hadn't gotten around to killing him yet. Maybe."

Dude shook his head. "Why not just throw dynamite, next time?"

Xander nodded slowly. "Been a lot cleaner if I'd just lobbed a bottle of nitro into the dining room, huh?"

Heidi grinned. "And you laugh at me for my hero worship. Tsk, tsk," she said. "Heh. Speaking of hero worship," she looked at Vin, grinning, "You'll be pleased to know that Gunn's daughter, Bianca, has a major case of it. She took that short barreled .25-35 model '94 of hers, and sawed off the stock and made her a saddle leather holster for it."

Xander burst out laughing at Vince's expression, and even Dude and Chance snickered at him. "My oh my," Xander said. "We'll just have to get you a Bolin made rig and saddle, and your own serial if they ever get that moving picture thing going that Los Angeles is playing with. Vin Garrett – Range Rider!"

Vince glared at him, and then his lips started to twitch. Finally, he shook his head, laughing. "Moving pictures, huh? Well, just _has_ to be easier than what we are doing for a living."

Heidi laughed, and said, "Can't be any harder." She sobered abruptly, and continued, "Know what the shooting was last night, now. Wilkins, Stillwell, and Maitland took over the Mission and evicted all of the priests, brothers, and staff. And they're holed up in there now."

Dude _and_ Chance swore at length this time.

"Lot fewer guns and deputies in town now, makes it easier to slip and slide by," Heidi said. "But there's still enough to cover a lot of rooftops, and County and City Hall. _And_ to mount at least a token watch on the roads. And you don't see Dewell McKay, Hedges, Lazenby, Slade, or Deke Matthews around. Or the other big boys. Nor any of Wilkins three remaining gunsels."

"Well, hmm," Glenn said. "Interesting."

"Going to draw us into the exchange, and then close the gate on us," Vince said, "Or try." Kevin nodded.

"While keeping us pinned down in here until tomorrow night," John T. said.

"I can slip in and out whenever I want. So could Vin," Heidi said. She looked at Xander a bit dubiously. "Maybe even clubfoot here, but I'm not so sure about that."

"Well, the rest of us aren't quite as good at ghosting up and catching rabbits bare handed as you two and Hauer," Kevin said, his voice dry.

"And me," Chollo said.

"Nice to know," Glenn said.

"It's ok, Kevin. You make up for it by being pretty to look at," Heidi told him. "Oh – and Brett's getting better, Doc says, but he's still not out of the woods yet," she added.

"Really nice to know," Dude said. John T. and the others nodded.

* * *

They'd put her and Ianara into a roughly eight by twelve room in the lower levels of the Mission. What had probably been a wine cellar, Cordelia thought, and then turned into other storage, the winery presumably moved elsewhere. What she really knew was that it was at least two flights of stone stairs down below the main buildings, lit by lanterns, and damp and cold.

And it was also, she figured, right at about the area where the Hellmouth had been under the library. She shivered, thinking she could almost feel the evil seeping out of there and into her bones...

Being moved and the late night ride hadn't done the other girl any good, like she'd said. Cordelia would have felt vindicated by that, if she hadn't had to end up dealing with it.

Being swathed in a pile of blankets hadn't helped. Cordelia had finally resorted to body heat, crawling under the blankets and taking a shivering Ianara in her arms and falling asleep that way. It had helped.

A stove in the room would have helped more.

The only measure of time they had was that at some point in the morning, presumably around noon, Sheridan had brought a tray with food, hot coffee – thank gods! – and more fruit juice, canned fruit, and cookies for Ianara. And a change of dressing and more ointment and liniment, and disinfectant. And then had sat across the room with her '95 across her lap and her shorty Winchester scabbarded at her back, between the shoulder blades, watching while they ate.

Not much for taking chances, that one.

It, the warmth, and the earlier meal and wound treatment had evidently helped. Ianara wasn't nearly so pale today, and was stronger, if still a bit wan looking.

Cordelia would have felt better about that if she hadn't thought, a bit grimly, that she might be helping to nurse her back to health just in time for Wilkins to drag a knife across her throat and activate the Hellmouth. While smiling cheerfully all the way.

Screw it. Not on her watch.

Not much to do. Not even a deck of cards. Cordelia had crawled under the blankets again after Sheridan had left, and she and Ianara had talked quietly until falling back to sleep.

The room had no window, and had a wooden door with an outer lock and a bar rigged across it from the outside. It also had one of those little hinged windows, like they have in gangster movies so the bad guys can peek out, Or in, in this case.

A rapping came at the little window, and it opened, waking her and Ianara. The guard Deputy's gruff voice came in. "Got a visitor, _Deputy_. Rise and shine."

As much curious as she was afraid of who it might be, Cordelia shrugged under the blanket, and slid out from under.

"Might as well go see," she said. Ianara nodded up at her, her eyes wide.

Who she saw looking in through the peep window wasn't anyone she'd expected.

"Dewell McKay?" Cordelia tilted her head, studying what she could see of him.

"McKay," the guard called over. "Look but don't touch, now." Laughter drifted over at that. More than one guard, she guessed.

"Maitland wants me to check and make sure she's ok," McKay said, turning his head slightly. "Seeing as how she's the guarantee for his son and all."

"So." Cordelia continued to study him.

"So." McKay nodded. "They treating you all right?" he said, quietly.

"Oh," Cordelia said, with an airiness she didn't feel, "Room service, four star accommodations, the works... could use a masseuse. And a heated pool."

A ghost of a smile crossed McKay's lips, and he nodded.

"Maitland didn't send you last night," Cordelia said.

"A good employee _always_ anticipates his employer's desires, ma'am," McKay said, deadpan.

"Right." Cordelia drawled the word out into at least four syllables. She kept her voice as quiet as his.

"Anything you need?"

"A gun."

That faint smile ghosted across his lips again. "That would get you killed. And me also, once they found it. Too many guns between here and out."

Cordelia nodded, and cocked her head the other way, still studying him. Something about this...

"You rode with Rory Harris and John T., in the Badlands, once," she said.

McKay raised his eyebrows, and didn't nod. Or shake his head. "Long time ago."

"Rory Harris wouldn't be a party to this," she said. "Not any of it. Not ever."

"Long time ago. You didn't know him back then," McKay said, his eyes and face unreadable.

"Did too. Right after. He used to hold me at night when I woke up screaming," Cordelia said. "I was five, then. And... no. Not ever."

McKay shook his head, very slightly, still completely unreadable to her. "You'll be out of here tomorrow night."

"No." Cordelia said. "Not going to happen. And if it did?" she shrugged, "Ianara wasn't included in the deal. And I'm not leaving her to that monster."

"You'll be out of here tomorrow night," McKay said again, his voice firm. "Won't be any need to keep you any more."

Again that... something. She couldn't _quite_ pin it down, and didn't dare to pin any hopes on it. Cordelia just shook her head, wordless.

A bare flicker in the eyes, maybe, to go along with that ghostly smile. "Anything you'd like your fellow told?"

"Oh... " _Xander_. Cordelia blinked, sudden heat and wetness threatening to flood her eyes. "Tell him... " thinking furiously, she smiled suddenly, and said, "Tell him he might die _from_ me yet. And that I'm looking forward to shopping for linoleum with him."

McKay blinked. "Oh-kay... " he said, and nodded very slightly, once.

"McKay," the guard's voice cut across, much closer this time. "Time's up, gunslinger. Move it."

McKay nodded, and an eyelid flickered in what might have been a ghost of a wink. He said, "Sure thing," and turned sharply, that long Winchester laid back against his shoulder.

There was a meaty thump, and a yell, as that long heavy, octagonal barrel came around and smacked the Deputy across the temple and cheekbone.

"Oops. Sorry about that," McKay said. He lowered the Winchester, a bit too smartly, and the butt-stock went back as the fore-end came down and hit the guard right about in the belt buckle. "Damn. Clumsy of me."

Cordelia had to stuff the edge of her hand into her mouth, and bite down, in order to keep from collapsing into laughter. She managed to hold it in, her eyes dancing, until the guard slammed the little window door shut with a curse and bolted it.

* * *

The day passed. Kevin, Vin, Glenn, and the others passed the time in their usual fashion: playing cards. Matchstick poker between Dude and Chance, hearts, spades, and gin rummy between Kev, Glenn, and Vin. Xander paced, then emptied his two new pistols and spent a part of the time in the great room practicing his draw with them from shoulder and high-ride holster. Over and over.

Heidi and Chollo amused themselves by throwing their boot knives into an upright post, in lazy competition. Vin joined in after a time, and the competition became a bit less lazy...

Dude read his law books.

Julian fixed a huge lunch for them, thick sandwiches of skillet fried ham and fried eggs, on freshly baked bread. The smell of that bread had been slowly driving Xander nutso with hunger all morning. Worth the wait, and as Julian said, might as well use up the eggs while they were fresh.

Xander and Vin were convinced, during and immediately after lunch, to tell the full story of the shootout with Jack, Kyle, and Rhonda, to a fascinated Heidi... starting with their passing the roadblock, and ending with Xander's talk with the Mayor and his cronies later. Xander edited the discussion with Giles and Aaron a bit.

After lunch, Heidi slipped out again to scout the town. She returned after around three hours with Elena in tow, wearing jeans, a hat, and a purple serape over a gunbelt. She also had a tall, slender, mocha skinned beauty of about fifteen or sixteen with her, that Xander gaped at open mouthed.

"Wait, _you're_ Gunn's daughter?" Xander said, half amused, half incredulous. Just when he thought he'd gotten used to seeing versions of the people he knew from _their_ Sunnydale...

"Adopted daughter," Bianca said, bristling. She tossed her head angrily, sending her long, black braid swinging.

Xander was saved from sticking his other foot in his mouth by Heidi frowning and saying, "Bianca. I'm pretty sure I told you that, Xan." Xander nodded. It had saved him from calling her Kendra...

He wondered a bit less than idly if she was a potential Slayer. It wouldn't surprise him at all to find that the Watcher's Council had had more than one motivation for sending Reginald Giles here to integrate himself into the community as a school teacher, just as theirs had been a school librarian.

Bianca unbristled enough to pass Xander a folded note from her back pocket. He read it while a frowning Dude watched him.

"It's from Rory," he said. "For Heidi, mostly, actually. Says Tor will probably survive ok. Elli says he has the constitution of a mule... "

"And the thick skull, too," Heidi said, but she smiled, looking relieved.

It actually said a bit more, but Xander kept that to himself. He glanced at Bianca, and noticed her pistol belt and stared, his eyebrows going up. She slowly flushed a bright red, and turned that side of her body away from his increasingly amused scrutiny.

Yup. Damned straight. An almost exact copy of Vin's, only with a winter loop and a pistol grip, rather than the straight grip and large loop like his. And a near identical holster of heavy saddle leather, with stitching that was almost as professional looking. Of course, growing up at a livery stable _would_ probably teach you a lot about working leather and saddle repairs...

He glanced at Vince and caught him doing his best to suppress a grin, his lips twitching mightily. Good. No need to embarrass the girl farther.

Elena had brought a huge basket that turned out to be full of fried chicken and trimmings, for a midday meal and dinner. She grinned wickedly at Dude and said, "Jocelyn says to tell you she's worried and she wants you to come by Southerby's once you can get out of here."

It distracted both Xander, Kev, Vin, and Glenn from their other amusement, no doubt sparing Bianca tons of mortification. Xander raised his eyebrows and stared at Dude, and then Elena.

"Dude has a girlfriend?" Xander's lips started twitching again.

"What? You don't think I can know a girl?" Dude demanded.

"Oh, I'm sure you _can_," Xander said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I just didn't know you _did_."

"It's not just young pups like you and Hauer that can have lady friends."

Chance grinned at the two of them and wandered over to a smiling Elena, who cocked her head at him, watching him from the corner of her eyes.

"So," he said, looking her over with a curious and bemused expression, "Are you actually wearing anything under that there serape other than a gunbelt and boots, Elena?"

Her smile broadened lazily. "Wouldn't you just like to know, John T.?" A pause, and the lazy smile broadened ever further, "I'll tell you the same thing I did in Rio Lobo: you are most welcome to check, if you'd like."

Chance smiled back just as broadly. "And I will surely take you up on that, once this is done."

"See?" Dude looked over at them, and back to Xander belligerently. "Even ancient fat old buzzards like him can know a girl."

"And just who are _you_ calling _fat_," John T. growled at him. "You overrated washed up dandy."

They were spared another round of the John T. and Dude bickering show by shouts from outside, as a sudden rush of hoof beats came down the street toward and then past the Marshall's office. There was a thud against the shuttered window, followed by a clatter from down much lower. Vince stood and opened the loophole window to look out, very carefully.

"Can't see anything – wait," he said. "There's a rock with some paper wrapped around it."

Heidi cocked her head, listening. After a moment she said, "Dewell McKay's horse."

Vince stared at her, his eyebrows going up. "Let me guess: you have just _awful_ good hearing, too."

"Damn straight," Heidi said. Her eyes widened, and she added, "Doesn't _everyone_?"

"I'm on it," Finney yelled. They heard the front door open as he slipped outside, and then again after a few minutes, closing immediately after and being bolted. He came through the arched doorway, tossing the paper wrapped rock to Dude, who caught it out of the air.

"Yup. It's a rock, all right," Dude said. He noticed everyone looking at him, and added, "What? No one else gets to be a comedian around here?"

"Don't quit your day job," Xander said, sourly.

Grinning at him, Dude unwrapped the paper and looked it over. "Huh. It's for you," he said, holding it out to Xander. "You're a popular fellow, fellow."

Xander's eyebrows went up, and he stepped over, reaching out for the paper. Reading it, after a minute he broke out into a wide grin and started laughing.

"Well? Don't just stand there and laugh," Chance said, finally. "Let the rest of us in on the joke."

Between gasps of laughter, Xander managed to get out, "Message from Cordy. She's ok, and so is Ianara... for now."

Shaking his head, Dude quoted the note word for word. Elena slumped against John T., looking as relieved as Xander felt.

"Die from her? And... linoleum?" Chollo said, pushing back his hat and scratching his head.

"One of those private jokes – two of them, actually – that wouldn't mean anything except to the two of us," Xander said, finally getting himself under control.

Chance nodded. "And that no one else would think to use if they faked it."

"Like I think I said once," Dude said, "That's one hell of a girl you've got there."

"I like her," Xander said, smiling.

"Not much else we didn't know," Glenn said. "Wilkins will probably pull a fast one."

"Huh. Think this means we can put McKay on our side of the ledger?" Vince said, frowning.

"No," Dude said.

Chance nodded and added, "But you might just want to place a small side bet that way, just in case."

"One thing we _didn't_ know for certain," Chollo said. "Both gals are at the Mission, and _where_ at the Mission."

Xander glanced sidelong at Heidi, and got a fractional nod in return. No one else seemed to notice. It would be good to know if someone who knew what they were doing could get in, and how far in, and how close to where Cordy and Ianara were being kept.

It wouldn't bother him at all to short circuit the need for the exchange and a risky gunfight, and the even deadlier risk of trying to penetrate to Cordelia and Wilkins under fire.

Not that the risks would stop him, if needs be.

* * *

.


	27. The Natives are Restless -

**Chapter Twenty-six: The Natives are Restless. And Agitated, too.**

* * *

"_I will be an equal-opportunity despot and make sure that terror and oppression __are__ distributed fairly, not just against one particular group that will form the core of a rebellion.__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

The bell rang in the upper corner of the office, and everyone froze. Chollo unfroze first and headed out to ask Julian what was the alarm, as everyone picked up rifles and checked weapons.

"Damn." Chollo ducked back in through the archway. "Jules says there's a whole wagon load of people coming up the street. From down by the hotel way, he said."

"Or City Hall and the County Building," John T. said, his eyes narrowing.

"Might be," Chollo said, nodding. "Could make sense, and Wilkins or Munroe got to being impatient."

"Or a bunch of concerned citizens deciding enough is enough and getting a necktie party together," Kevin said.

"Seen it before, sort of," Glenn said, nodding. "Except they didn't use any ropes when they'd had it in Silverado."

"How you want to handle it, Dude?" Chollo asked.

Dude and John T. exchanged looks, and Chance shrugged. "Your call, Dude," he said. "You've got the hot seat, now."

"Well, I think we go and see what all they want," Dude said. He picked up Chance's carbine and tossed it to him. John T. caught it out of the air, and picked up one of his fancy Colts and slid it behind his left hip, under his waist belt. Dude picked up his own carbine, and his twelve gauge coach gun, standing up from the desk.

"All right," Dude said. "Kevin? You and Glenn go and cover the back, if you would. Chollo, you're with me and John T., out front. Grab a shotgun to go with that fancy Winchester of yours."

"Because nothing says intimidation like a double twelve gauge," Heidi said. She picked up her new carbine.

"Where do you want us, Marshall?" Vince asked, looking at Dude from his chair. Not one to move before it was time...

Dude's eyes narrowed in thought. Xander was already standing, his Model '86 in one hand and the drilling – Cordelia's drilling – in the other.

"Want you two and Barrie up on top, you with that big rifle, and Harris there."

Xander nodded. When Heidi glanced at it, he shrugged and handed her the '86, exchanging it for his long rifle. She slung her carbine on the sling she'd found in the storeroom somewhere, and nodded.

"We'll keep the roofs clear and annoyances from above off of you, Dude," Xander said.

"Maybe they've gotten smart," Vince said, "And stopped putting targets in the church steeple."

Heidi snickered and Vin smiled at her. "Naw. They're not that smart," Vin said, nodding.

"We'll give you ten to get into place," Chance said. "And set up."

"Won't take us that long," Heidi told him.

"Well then use the _rest_ of that time to knit me a new pair of socks," Chance said, smiling tightly.

.

They went out through the trap door in the hallway leading to the bedrooms, keeping way down and behind the low retaining wall. Vince touched Xander on the shoulder, and pointed to the front, and then across, and then down the street. He jerked a thumb at himself, and pointed up and left.

Xander nodded, and he and Heidi low crawled to the retaining wall at the front of the adobe building's second floor, while Vince went around and up the ladder leading to the roof of the third story. Well, second and a half story. Upper story extension. Whatever...

With the main level of the Marshall's Office building being very high ceilinged, almost a story and a half, the second floor extension was nearly a third, which made the partial upper one of the highest points in this end of town other than the church steeple. Put Jules and his Springfield in the darkened upstairs looking out, and just nothing was going to last very long, and it decided to go a sniping at anyone.

Heidi checked over the '86, and rolled prone and into place, to the right and looking out and down the street. She nodded her readiness.

Xander had no problems at all seeing out. No light pollution, and even the sliver of moon, combined with the starlight, provided plenty of illumination. Besides, ever since the hyena possession – even with it exorcised – it had seemed like his night vision had increased a ton. Not what it was when he _was_ hyena, but plenty.

About three hours past full dark. Going on what, eleven or so? Maybe? No matter...

He saw a couple of rifles poking up from buildings across the way, and marked them. Raising the ladder sight on the express sight, he made a few adjustments after estimating the range.

No one appeared to be in the watch tower at the Mission. Maybe this wasn't a Wilkins or Munroe special. But he knew that Lazenby and Sharp were out here somewhere with a pair of long rifles like his, and that made him nervous...

He double checked the chamber, easing open the breech block silently, and closed it again. He set three of the long forty caliber cartridges between the fingers of his left hand, where it supported the fore-end of the heavy rifle. He doubted there'd be call for more than two shots, but you just never knew.

It took longer than ten minutes for Dude, Chollo, and John T. to come out the front and go to the gate. But that was because it took longer than that for the crowd – he wasn't going to call it a mob, yet – to reach the street out front. The others gave the crowd time to mill around a bit and get to the point of calling out for the Marshall before he heard the door open. Huh. Sounded almost like Oz...

Then one of the targets he'd marked shifted position to bring a rifle to bear on the front gate, and Vince's fifty went off, ringing the church bell. And there was no more time to pay attention to the crowd scene...

.

"Marshall! Hey – Marshall Dude," a voice yelled out, after ringing the gate bell. "We'd like to speak with you, please."

"Well, guess that's our cue," Dude said.

"Huh." Chollo frowned, and said, "That sounded like the blacksmith, Osbourne."

"He didn't seem like he was all that civic minded," Chance drawled. "'Least when I met him."

"Hasn't been so far," Dude said, shrugging. "Kinda real quiet and keeps to himself, mostly. Let's go see what he wants."

They left the office and went to the front door. Dude nodded to Deputy Finney. "All right. Lock and bar it once we're out. We'll yell when we need back in."

"And I do hope Devlin is keeping a real close eye on our prisoner," John T. said.

"What if you need to get back inside in a big hurry?" Finney said, unlocking the door and starting to open it.

"Gets to be that big a hurry, we probably won't be coming back in," Dude said, his voice dry and amused. "Or else we'll have all the time in the world."

They got about three long steps out when Vince's .50-95 went off and the church bell clanged, followed immediately by another shot, and Xander's long rifle and Model '86 going off almost simultaneously with Vince's second shot.

The crowd stilled very quiet suddenly, and then a low murmur started up as three more shots went off, followed by a couple more. The last two were Xander's long rifle, followed by Vince's fifty, and broken before and in the middle by the sharp report of a .30 Winchester center fire.

Heidi shot again with that .40-82, twice, then rapid fire like at the Double Eagle, and then things got quiet again.

"You'd think the bad guys would be running out of men stupid enough to get on high places with rifles by now," Chollo said, sounding amused.

"I learned a long time ago," Dude said, "That's there's just nothing more plentiful than stupidity."

Chollo nodded. "That Ponce de Leon fellow wasted his time looking for the fountain of youth. What we _need_ is a fountain of smart."

"Hell, that'd take all the fun out of things," John T. said.

Since Chance actually had a free hand that wasn't holding a rifle and a shotgun, he unlatched and opened the gate, pulling it shut behind them as they stepped outside. The latch bar dropped solidly behind them.

Chance took up a station behind slightly and to the right of Dude, his Winchester held on his hip, angled upwards. Dude stepped forward, the shotgun held like John T.'s rifle, and the carbine laid back against his left shoulder. Chollo mirrored him on the left.

"Osbourne," Dude said. "Nice night for a stroll."

"Is that, Marshall," Oz said, smiling slightly. Dude couldn't recall that he'd ever seen the man smile any other way.

"What brings you folks up here to my offices tonight?" Dude asked.

The tall black stable owner, Gunn, stepped up next to Oz, with his woman next to him. He had a brightly chromed '76 held in the crook of his left arm, but no hand near the trigger.

"Marshall Dude," he said, nodding politely. "We'd like to speak with you about Maitland – "

"– No one is taking that kid out of my jail," Dude drawled. "_No one_. He's standing trial for what he did, in Sacramento."

He didn't shift the shotgun or the carbine an inch. He didn't have to. The tone of his voice said it all, probably.

"Whoa," Gunn held up his right hand, palm out. "Easy, sir. Not what I meant – I didn't finish."

"So finish up, Mister Gunn," Chollo said. "We're listening."

Dude scanned the crowd while that was going on, noting faces. Damn, but it looked like a who's who of Sunnydale's _real_ citizens. Not 'Very Important People', or mayors or editors. But the people who actually made the town _work_. Gunn, Osbourne, Jay Lee Fong, Miss Jocelyn, from the Cafe, Mr. Beauregard, Mr. Haversham...

"Marshall," Isabelle's voice brought him back to focus on them. "My man here meant the _other_ Maitland, the older one. And Stillwell, and Wilkins. We'd like to know what you intend to do about them?"

A tall man stepped up next to her, wearing a battered top hat. The Episcopalian preacher, what was his name... John Doherty, that was it.

"I suppose you've heard about what happened at the Mission last night, Marshall?" he said. Soft spoken man – Dude had always wondered how he could speak a sermon and be heard.

"I have," Dude said. "And I'm pure sorry to hear about it, too."

Doherty nodded. He drew up one of the men next to and behind him, and said, "This is Father Joseph Montoya, the Abbot. Father Jon Morgan, Brother David, and Brother William are with him, also. They're not of mine and the other clergy here's faiths, but we'd like you to hear him out, regardless."

"We like to believe that all faiths are the same, Reverend Doherty."

"Father." Dude nodded. "Have your say, please. And, might I ask, why you didn't come by last night, or earlier to swear out a complaint or a statement?"

"Sir. We were told very clearly by Sheriff Munroe that there wasn't any point in doing so, that your authority here was at an abrupt end."

Chance made an ugly sound in his throat. Dude didn't blame him.

"Actually, Father," Dude said, "As usual, our good Sheriff had it backwards. He's the one with no authority in the city, and what little he does have left anywhere is eroding away real fast."

Father Montoya nodded. "I had hoped to hear you say that. It's what I gathered from the other towns people here. However, a number of Maitland and Stillwell's men made the same point when we arrived here from the Mission. Reverend Doherty, Reverend Hinn, and Mr. Gunn and Mr. Osbourne were kind enough to escort us to Reverend Hinn's tents. We've spent the day in consultation with as many of the Town's citizens who came to speak with us, or offer condolences, as possible."

"What exactly happened at the Mission last night?" Dude asked, "Since this is the first I'm hearing it directly?"

Father Montoya and his fellows filled them in, tersely. It wasn't pretty...

"Well, I am sorry about your losses," Dude said, finally. "And appreciative. We knew that Wilkins had Deputy Chase, but we hadn't known for certain exactly _where_ he had her, until now."

"She seemed to be in reasonably good health when we saw her. And the other young lady," Brother David said. He had a broad, pleasant face, and a plowman's build. "Although... the other young woman did have a bandage on the side of her neck."

Chance made that ugly sound again, echoed by Chollo.

"Again, Dude," Jocelyn stepped forward, this time. She was an attractive woman of around Dude's age – about late thirties to early forties – with dirty blonde hair and tired blue eyes. "We'd really like to know what you have planned. We haven't heard nor seen much from you since that shootout at the 'Eagle the other night."

"Now, no need to take that tone with me, Joyce," Dude said. She smiled, nodding a wry acknowledgment, and gestured for him to continue.

"Sorry. It's been a rough few days, and now this."

Dude nodded. "What we plan is this: Wilkins wants to exchange Miss Cordelia for Maitland's son. I don't want to, but we don't see much choice. So tomorrow night, we're going to make that trade."

"And then we're going to go in and take down Maitland, Stillwell, and Wilkins," John T. said. "For kidnapping and murder, among other things."

"And arrest whatever is left," Chollo added.

"And then we're going to wait for the State and Federal Marshall, and the Rangers, to get here from Sacramento and help us sort everything out," Dude said, nodding. "We figure there'll probably be a few openings in the city leadership after that, and a lot of charges to lay."

"Just the three of you?" Jocelyn sounded incredulous. "And Deputy Finney and Devlin, of course, but... "

"Few more than just three," Chollo said, smiling. He jerked his head toward the rooftop behind them. "As you may have heard."

"Yeah," Oz said. "Heard the shooting."

"Engaging in a little pest control," John T. said. "An awful lot of these old buildings have an infestation of roof rats."

"I've noticed they've developed a recent liking for church steeples, as well," Reverend Doherty said, smiling slightly.

Dude nodded. "Young Deputy Harris, and Deputy Garrett. They're both a better than fair hand with rifle and short gun. And Heidi Barrie has come over, too, and she's one of my deputies now."

"And she's just awful quiet," John T. drawled.

"We'll get by. And I'd appreciate it if you'd all break up and head home now," Dude said. "Believe me: everyone involved will get what they have coming to them."

.

Vince's fifty went off, clanging the church bell, and again, to presumably nail whatever he'd flushed out. Xander settled the ivory bead in the notch of the ladder sight and squeezed. The rifleman under the bead dropped boneless.

Heidi fired once, and again, and again, from next to him. Measured, aimed shots, not the near machine-gun rate she'd used at the Double Eagle. But those had been aimed too...

His second shot came simultaneously with Heidi's third, and target two dropped, his rifle falling from rooftop to street.

There was the high pitched, flatter crack of a thirty-thirty, and a bullet spanged off the parapet near where Vince was. Vince apparently wasn't hit, because the .50-95 answered it twice, and he cursed.

Xander heard something similar going on beside him, but he wasn't really paying attention. He rolled to his feet, keeping low, and ran to the corner of the second story extension, kneeling and bracing against the building corner. He flipped the ladder sight down... there. About a hundred yards up the street. Long for a .30-30, but almost point blank for him.

He flipped up the appropriate express leaf, aimed, and then shifted aim slightly and put a heavy three hundred grain flat point into the corner of the wall above where he could see an elbow and forearm, and a rifle barrel. Chips and splinters flew, and he jerked open the lever, reloading, and put another round through the wall slightly back from there.

There was a sudden scramble and then Vince's .50-95 went off, and a body sprawled. A rifle slid out onto the roof top and stopped.

"Much obliged," came down from above. Xander grinned.

Another shot spanged off the parapet behind and beside him, and then Heidi was rapid firing the .40-82, four rounds that sounded like one long, rolling report.

Everything got real quiet. Xander dropped the breech block, and reloaded.

"You get elected for anything up there?" he called up to Vince.

"Nope. Sure got nominated real thoroughly, though."

"How about you?" Xander called over to Heidi, glancing in her direction.

"I'm fine," she said. "But damn – that last shot sent all the rats running for their holes."

Xander mentally added two to his running total, as he low ran back toward his position at the parapet next to Heidi. Let's see... Six at the Double Eagle and after, three at the roadblock, two sharpshooters, and Jack and Kyle. Making fifteen here. Damn.

If you counted what his memories told him of before he actually arrived, when it was _here_ him doing the shooting, before long he'd be doubling the total Tom Horn had racked up before being hanged.

He could feel worse about that he supposed, but counting since he and Cordy had arrived on stage, every single one had been either trying to kill them, or kill someone he cared about. Oh well. Different world, different time, different morality.

Fuck 'em.

He supposed he _could_ also wonder about what happened to the nice, law abiding 1990's California boy who wouldn't have been sitting on a rooftop with a rifle prepared to shoot people... except that that same modern California boy had once been prepared to take an axe and behead Amy when they'd thought she'd cast a deadly Bloodstone curse on Buffy. That nice California boy had never really existed...

It's really not all that far a trip from civilized teen to unreconstructed savage, some days. In _any_ time period.

Xander settled back into place by Heidi, and strained to hear as the conversation out front started up, now that the shooting had died down. Night vision was good. Be nice if he'd kept the hearing from Hyena Boy, too. he could just hear when the people out there raised their voices enough.

He never knew that his eyes flashed suddenly, nor that they turned dark green, and reflective. Heidi didn't tell him, for she was also focused up front, and on the rooftops around them. He just knew that the voices suddenly became clearer...

Wind must've shifted.

After awhile, he listened real close as the two Priests began talking. A mirthless smile spread across his lips.

"You hear that?" he said, quietly.

"Yup," Heidi said, nodding. "On it, Boss." She handed him his '86, and moved back toward the middle edge of the rooftop.

"Thought you were going to watch my back?" Xander said, smiling.

"What, Vin's not enough? He'll baby sit while you're inside and all tucked in."

"Be careful, Heigh-ho," Xander called back, very quietly.

She looked up at him, and white teeth flashed in a smile. "Like you said, we're way past careful now," Heidi said, just as quietly. "And the bad men all done got dangerous on us."

She put a hand on the parapet wall, and vaulted over the edge, landing softly somewhere below.

The meeting began to break up down there, and Dude, Chollo, and John T. opened the gate and headed back in to the front door of the office, closing and locking the gate behind them. Vince came down and eased up beside Xander.

"Sooner or later, they're either going to run out of idiots stupid enough to get on high places," Vince said, "Or they're going to run out of people."

"No bets either way," Xander said.

Vince glanced around, and noted the Model '86 next to Xander, along with his long Winchester and the drilling. Xander watched him put two and two together.

"Barrie?"

Xander explained what they'd overheard. Vince nodded. "I best go and make sure she makes it back," he said.

"Hey – Heidi said you were watching me now," Xander said, smiling.

"You've got Glenn and Kevin to hold it for you," Vin said. "They've been trying to long enough."

Xander laughed quietly as Vince moved back and slid over the edge of the wall, and disappeared after Heidi. Dude might be a bit perturbed.

Then again, Xander wasn't at all adverse to cutting out the need for the exchange tomorrow night. They could always nail Wilkins at a better time and place, if it went that way.

And if not? Intelligence always came in handy. They needed a good scout of the Mission before showtime.

* * *

Bored, bored, bored. And _cold_, dammit.

She'd asked for a deck of cards or something, anything to pass the time with, on Sheridan's last visit. And she'd gotten a scowl, and a flat negative.

Apparently, His Lordship Interim Mayor Rattlesnake had said that they weren't to be allowed anything to break the monotony, and that was that. At least as far as their main jailer was concerned, anyway. Sheridan was either a stickler for following the rules, or else scared enough of Wilkins to not want to buck him. Or both.

She wished McKay was their main jailer. No respecter of rules or personages _there_.

And it was cold down here. Cordelia wouldn't have believed that it could be outright cold in Southern California in freaking _July_, for the gods sakes. It must be something to do with being two levels underground or something. No heater. _Naturally_, the _guards_ had a stove, but the warmth didn't reach in _here_. No, they had blankets, and they had body heat, and that was that.

Cordelia, by this point, had a list of grievances and a list of people she was planning to kill for them that was as long as her arm.

They'd had their dinner. And no one was going to look in on them until morning, except for maybe a guard or Sheridan taking a quick look through the peephole window.

So with nothing to do but talk for entertainment, they talked.

With nothing to do to entertain themselves but think, they thought. Or at least she did... good thing that Cordelia Chase had always been comfortable and at home with her own mind and imagination.

And with nothing to do for warmth but huddle under the blankets with their arms around each other, they cuddled.

Which, quite honestly, was kind of freaky. At least to her. It didn't seem to freak Ianara, but the Hispanic girl had apparently grown up in a household and family that was filled with physical affection and warmth.

Which was just the thing. _Cordelia__,_ despite the memories of her past counterpart, had _not_.

Sure, when she was a little kid, she could remember that her daddy had always had a caress for her hair, or a hand for the shoulder, and had done the little kid thing of holding her on his lap and reading to her and telling her stories and such. Her mother... well, her _real_ mother had died when she was three and a half, and neither of her stepmothers had cared much for cuddling or holding Daddy's little brat. And the casual affection and lap sitting et al had ended once she was old enough that her parents could leave her with the nanny and the housekeepers so they could start traveling. Which must've been when she was about seven or so. She'd been a very responsible little girl.

And none of the guys she'd dated, from, like, oh... twelve or so on, had been much for physical affection either. Touching? Oh sure. They _all_ wanted to _touch_. None of them could wait to get their lips on hers, their hands on her tits or ass, or wherever they could manage. Like dating a series of octopuses. Octopi?

The only guy she'd ever been with who _wasn't_ like that was... well, Xander. Xander freaking _Harris_, Goofball Extraordinaire, King of Cretins, Knight in Klutzy Armor, Geek of Geeks, and the guy who put the _Punk_ into Skater Punk.

Was the only guy she'd ever known, from like the age of thirteen or so when they'd gotten stuck together at some stupid party and doing the Truth or Dare thing to end up in a closet, who just liked to _touch_. And cuddle. And hold hands. And put his arm around your waist while walking. And give and get hugs. Or...

Jeeze. No freaking _wonder_ she'd been falling in love with him for most of this past year. Or, for half of her freaking life, for that matter. He not only could _kiss_, but he wasn't afraid to or just so wrapped up in sex that he didn't care to _hold_, either.

Gods. She was like one of those freaking abused dogs who, once they get over shying away from a raised or outstretched hand, couldn't get _enough_ petting. Roof.

_Screw_ therapy. Just lock someone in a cold room with a bunch of blankets and nothing to do but hold someone else and talk. And think. The cure for all lack of insight, and it didn't cost three hundred dollars for a fifty minute hour.

Especially do that with a girl who's death, in another reality, had screwed up your boyfriend practically for _life_. One that he'd had a major crush on, and whom he'd been half in love with, and that you figured you could cheerfully strangle if you got the chance, ever. And who was half vampire drained, half sick from neglect, and who depended on _you_ for help just to make it through.

And who turned out to be a really sweet, pretty, nice girl, kinda. When she wasn't a life sucking mummy, anyway. One of the type you'd have shredded and destroyed in your bitch queen of Sunnydale mode. Except maybe not, because she kind of had a core of cold steel under there, somewhere. Just crushed by terror of Wilkins and Trick.

"You really think we're going to get out of here?" Ianara said.

Cordelia tightened the arm she had around the other girl's shoulders and said, "Well, sure."

They'd exhausted practically every other topic by now – practically knew each other better than Cordelia had _ever_ known another girl – and were back to old reliable: their prospects for survival.

"Do you really think that McKay might help?" Ianara frowned up at her. "Because, honestly, he scares me silly. Almost as bad as that Treek does. Or that Trask."

"Scares me too," Cordelia said. "I've seen, like, tigers that scared me less." Most or all of the _tigers_ had been behind _bars_.

"He _reminds_ me of a tigre," Ianara said. "He... actually, he kind of reminds me of Mr. Xander, a bit. Or that Tor Hauer."

"Oh, he's nothing like Xander, believe me," Cordelia said, snickering quietly. The snicker died a horrible death as a thought crossed her mind. Except for when he kinda was. Damn that honesty thing, anyway...

There'd been that moment when Xander had freaked the _crap_ out of her, when he'd asked her to clap for him, and that big six-gun had suddenly appeared in his hand like, well, magic. The look in his eyes... And that moment at the road block, when he'd casually and calmly killed three men, and equally casually and calmly asked her for his long rifle, and then come up on one knee and coldly picked the last one off of the back of a running horse. That set face and jaw, and those eyes...

Dewell McKay had eyes like that. Ice cold and full of warmth and secret amusement, all at the same time. Like that lazy, indolent leopard.

Tor Hauer had eyes like that. So did Heidi.

In fact, what Dewell McKay _did_ remind her of, now that she thought of it, was what little she'd managed to get out of Willow and Buffy about what he was like when Xander was hyena possessed, back in sophomore year. So maybe there was something to that. Huh. Save another three hundred dollars, here.

What Cordelia _said_, though, was, "It's just hard for me to see Xander as scary, I guess. I'm not sure it's possible for him to scare me, except for, like, being scared _for_ him. I can't picture him _ever_ harming me... not even... no matter how mad we've made each other. Or how angry I've made him, like, ever."

Ianara nodded. "Must be nice. To know someone like that, I mean, all of your life. So thorough and deep."

"I... " Cordelia's brain froze for a moment. "Yeah. Sometimes. Kinda."

_'Heh. Sometimes. Kinda. Maybe yeah,'_ Still Quiet said, snickering. _'Give it up, Chase. It's been the only real thing you've had to hold onto for __almost __thirteen years. Even when you didn't have it.'_

Oh, _shut_ up. Freaking little voices in the back of one's mind, anyway.

What came out of her mouth, though, was, "I think he might, anyway. Just a feeling... we'll have to see what happens tomorrow night. Assuming we don't get a chance before then."

There was a nod against her shoulder. "I want you to promise me something. If you get a chance, just go. Don't look back."

"Huh?" Cordelia frowned. "I am so _not_ leaving you. Not with these... _people_."

"I'm serious."

"No. And so am I." Cordelia shook her head. "Change of subject. What now... want to hear a bedtime story?"

Ianara giggled. "What are we, like seex? Huddling around a fire, and telling stories to be brave?"

"Oh, gods – I _wish_ we had a fire," Cordelia said, sighing. "So. Some more Jungle Book?"

"Me too," Ianara said. "Ok, then. No... I think the Dhole and Shere Khan are a beet too much like our monsters here. I like the one about the Preencess and the Black Knight."

"Me too," Cordelia said. "That's a good one." In fact, it had been the very first story Cordelia had ever made up... she was kind of proud of it. "All right. So... _Once upon a time_, not so very long ago, in a land not so far away; there lived a young and beautiful Princess. She lived _not_ in a castle of stone slowly mouldering, but in a large manor house quite near a middlesex township of indeterminate size, ruled by an evil Sorcerer and his blood drinking ogre minions... "

_Wait_.

The _hell_ was that noise? Cordelia stopped speaking abruptly, straining suddenly to hear, and running the past minute back through her mind's ear.

"What?"

"Shhh... " Cordelia was certain of it. A meaty thud, and a rustling thump. Followed by a choked, moist gasp and another rustling, sliding thud...

She placed a finger against Ianara's lips for silence, the other girl nodding her understanding, her eyes wide and frightened. Cordelia disentangled herself, and slid out from under the blankets. Padded silently to the barred door, and flattened herself against one side of it, her hand reaching into her sleeve to finger the hilt of the double edged dagger there.

Touching it only. Don't draw it – don't draw _attention_ to it, not just yet...

The little peephole widow unbolted, and then swung open, and a voice said, "_Psst!_ Chase? _Cordy_," in a harsh strained whisper.

Holy fuck. _Heidi_ freaking _Barrie_?

She was around the edge of the door, raising up to strain to see outside so fast she must've left a contrail. "Heidi? What the fuck?"

"Shhh. Dammit," Heidi whispered, standing on tip toe to look in. "Don't waste _time_."

Holy _crap_. She knew Heidi _here_ was _good_ at that whole sneaking thing. But she hadn't known she was freaking _magic_. Hope went through her in a rush, leaving her light-headed and weak in the knees. Heidi had a carbine slung over one shoulder, and a pair of pistols thrust through her gunbelt. And both guards were down across the room...

"Right. Have a spare gun?" Cordelia said.

"Way ahead of you," Heidi said, smirking up at her. She reached up a pistol, butt first, and passed it through the little window. "Need keys. Know which of these two idiots has them?"

"The one you got this from, the dumpy older one," Cordelia whispered back. It was his bird head butted Colt that Heidi had passed to her, the gun from the Deputy that McKay had thumped and doubled over. A forty-five. She'd have to allow for the heavier recoil...

"Right." Heidi padded away, and there was a slight jingle after a few minutes, quickly muffled. Padded back. "Just let me get this bar – "

_Crap_.

A man's voice, shouting "Hey!"

And Heidi didn't waste _time_ on words. She spun back and away from the door, one hand yanking the other guard's Colt from her gunbelt, and the other drawing her own long single action so fast it was almost like Xander's magic trick. There was a dull clap of sound, followed by another, and a choked cry along with a fast burst of three shots...

And then another single dull clap, and another cry. The jangle of the key ring hitting the floor along with the thump and clatter of a pistol. Sheridan's voice shouting for someone to get the fuck _back_.

And then a series of dull claps, alternating between the other guard's .45 and Heidi's .44-40, coming so fast they were almost a single loud stuttering report. The crash and tinkle of shattering glass, and a dimming as lanterns smashed and went out. Then dark beyond the peep window. The thud of an empty revolver hitting the floor...

"Dammit. Go after her," Sheridan hissed, angrily, to someone.

"_You_ go after her! Jeezus kee-_rist_, lady," a male voice snarled back. "Little _bitch_ just killed two guys, and put another one down as fast as I can _blink__!_"

Snicker. Good for Heidi. And, day-um, girl.

"All _right_, dammit. Then head up and do something _useful_ while I check the prisoners," Sheridan said, sounding exasperated. "Spread the word, round up people, and get a search started for her. Or are you _that_ scared of a little blonde girl?"

Heh. Sheridan should meet Buffy. She'd get a whole new appreciation for little blonde girls.

Mr. Guard apparently shared the sentiment, for he said, "Yes sir, ma'am sir!" as sarcastically as possible, before running back up the way he'd presumably came, cowboy boot heels thudding on the stone floor.

"All right." After about a minute, Sheridan's voice drifted through the peep window. "Step back from the door. And toss the gun. Hammer down. I want to hear it hit the floor, and _not_ go off."

Cordelia was already well back from the door. No point in standing where a stray bullet could go through and hit you. Ianara was pressed flat against the wall behind the bunk, presumably for the same reason.

"What makes you think I have a gun?"

"Don't treat me like an idiot. It won't go well," Sheridan said, casually. "Or I can just empty this .30-40 through the door, and keep reloading and changing angles until there's no point any more. Wilkins will be pissed off, but I'll deal."

Crap. And checkmate.

Cordelia sighed and lowered the hammer on the Colt, and tossed it. It hit the stone with a metallic thump and a clatter.

"Good girl. Smart girl," Sheridan said. "Now, all the way back to the back of the room. I open the door, I want to see you back there, facing the wall and about two feet away from it."

Sighing, Cordelia complied. There was a sound of someone setting a rifle down, and then a rattle of keys, and the sound of the bar moving, being set aside. And the door opening. Sans horror movie creak – apparently the monks had done maintenance.

"All right, good," Sheridan said. "One _long_ step back now, feet as far apart as you can get them. And then lean forward, palms flat against the wall. I correct any errors with a bullet. I don't ask twice."

And, crap. They _would_ have to get a professional, dammit. Cordelia did what she was told. No point in doing otherwise, not now. And, no way she could do anything useful from this position...

Bootsteps crossed the floor, catlike and springy. A long pause while they stopped at the guard's table, then crossed to the cell, and entered. Sheridan firmly felt up the places where you could stash a large revolver, all around the waist band. Or a small one, jacket and coat pockets, between the breasts, inner thighs. Garter pistol? Not the boots – she'd probably seen they were too tight to the calves and too solid a leather to easily slide a pistol into in a hurry. Probably why Trick hadn't found the boot knife. And not the sleeves...

"All right, I'm going to step back now, and you can turn around."

She did, and Cordelia did.

"_Flat_ back against the wall," Sheridan said. "Palms flat to it." She stepped back and over, yanked the blankets off of Ianara, and then made the other girl lie flat, hands and arms stretched above her head while she was searched. Made her roll over on her stomach, and searched that way, also. And then the covers and edges of the bed and mattress... And all the while keeping that carbine steady on Cordelia, or against Ianara's head.

Screw McKay. _Sheridan_ scared the piss out of Cordelia.

Other people had come down while this was going on, and there was movement and voices outside the cell. Cordelia could see a few men there.

"Damn. She used a knife on Wayland. Spurlock's just out cold – but he might have a fractured skull." The male voice sounded disgusted, and impressed. Another male voice cursed fluently.

Good for her. Cordelia was careful to keep the sentiment off of her face, and not smirk.

More boot steps. "My my, very impressive," Wilkins voice said. Sheridan stepped smoothly to one side, clearing the door. The muzzle of that extra short carbine never left Cordelia.

Damn. The woman was just _too_ competent. Cordelia was going to have to kill her, assuming she could. Too dangerous to leave her alive.

Yup. Wilkins, with Maitland standing beside him, looking in through the doorway. Trask on the left, Trick on the right. And McKay to the left and slightly behind, looking about and completely expressionless.

No, not quite expressionless. There was a ghost of an expression, and it was faintly amused.

"Well, now. Jack should have made certain she was dead, along with Hauer," Wilkins said, his voice amused, but the eyes were anything but.

"Tor's not dead," Cordelia said, and where the hell did that come from? She hadn't meant to say anything... "Jack couldn't even get that right. Neither could Kyle."

"A pity that. I'd chastise him, but, unfortunately, he's dead." Wilkins smiled broadly, and said, "I'll just have to chastise Miss Barrie after all this is done." He cocked his head, studying Cordelia. "Unless of course your young man takes violent exception to your being endangered, as he'd promised, and does it for me."

Actually, Xander had said he would hold _Wilkins_ responsible for whatever happened, in that quote from Big Jake. No matter who did what, or who's fault it was. But if Wilkins wanted to remember it otherwise, let him. Cordelia wasn't going to correct him.

"Neither of you could put her down?" Maitland said, looking aside to Trask and McKay.

"Moving too fast and too well," McKay said, shrugging. "No clear shot."

"Unfortunately, he's right," Trask said. "Good thing she was concentrating on getting to the wall and over, or there'd be even more dead bodies."

"Yeah. Instead of people hitting the ground all over wherever she pointed that rifle," McKay said, his voice flat.

Wilkins raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything other than, "A pity. And she left, what, five dead and three wounded behind, and no one saw her or heard her? Or managed to kill her once she was seen? Tsk, tsk."

"Seven, and three," McKay said.

Wilkins shook his head, and Trick said, "Want me to go after? I can track her."

"No," Wilkins said. "She knows about your kind, and might lie in wait for you."

A nod. "I can see if some of the... brethren are around, and have them hunt, then. Put the word out." Trick smiled, an added, "If she's going in and out of the Marshall's compound at night, she's vulnerable."

"Better suggestion," Wilkins said nodding. "Do that. And maybe one of them will be lucky and turn her."

Ouch. Scary thought, a vampire Heidi. Cordelia shivered.

Wilkins saw that, unfortunately, and as Trick nodded and went off, he smiled at her. "Would be a fitting rebuke to your young man for sending someone out, and after all his warnings to me, too."

"I doubt Xander had anything to do with this, or Dude," Cordelia said, feeling cold all over. "It's more the type of thing Heidi would come up with on her own. Better to ask forgiveness than permission."

Another nod. "I do hope so. You are becoming entirely too much trouble to keep, young woman. I do hope you're worth it."

He jerked his head, and Sheridan backed out of the cell, carefully. They locked and barred it behind her, leaving Cordelia and Ianara alone.

Alone, and frustrated, and more frightened and hopeless than ever.

* * *

**.**


	28. Time to Kill, Before it's Time to Kill

**Chapter Twenty-seven: Time to Kill, Before it's Time to Kill...**

* * *

"_The proper way to report to my Commander is __'__Specialist Schwarz, reporting as ordered, Sir__' _not _'__You can't prove a thing!__'__"_ ― 213 Things Skippy is no Longer Allowed to do in the United States Army

* * *

Interestingly, Dude hadn't been as annoyed as he'd thought he might be. A bit, but really all he'd done was look at Xander with mild irritation, and shake his head.

"I can see why you keep getting let go from Law Enforcement jobs, kid," Dude said. "We're done with this, and you might want to consider a different line of work."

Xander grinned at him, and scratched at his sideburns. "Well, now that you mention it, I've been kind of thinking about taking up raising blooded horses, and handsome sons and beautiful daughters. Like someone seems to have suggested to me some time ago."

John T. laughed and toasted him with his coffee cup. "Now there's a right smart idea, son. Always assuming the girl being willing and all."

"I'll have to see if I can talk her into it," Xander said. "Speaking of you knowing girls, Dude... "

"Yeah?" Dude raised his eyebrows.

Ouch. Talk about being prickly on some topics... Xander smiled to himself, and concentrated on running a patch through the High-wall's bore. "Joyce Summers is the gal you're sweet on?"

Dude looked blankly at him for a moment, then his expression cleared and he said, "Oh. You mean Jocelyn Sutherland?"

"Ah. Right. Yeah, that one," Xander said. He shrugged. "Been away a long time, give me a break, all right?"

Dude muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "_Like_ to give you a broken head, kid... " and Xander grinned again. What Dude said out loud was: "We've been seeing each other off and on, since I got here a few years ago. Why?"

"Ah." Xander nodded. "Just trying to sort out what I remember of this place from what's now, is all. She happen to have a daughter? Little blonde girl about five foot nothing?"

"What, one gal's not enough for you?" Kevin said, sounding amused.

"Hey," Xander said, easily. "I'm thinking about starting a harem to go with the ranch."

Glenn started laughing, and after a minute, so did Chollo. "Be sure and warn us when you break that idea to Cordelia," Glenn said, "'Cause I suspect that what she leaves of you won't be pretty."

"Yeah. Be something coyotes won't eat, most likely," Chollo said.

Dude grinned at them. "Naw. Widow, no kids."

"Ah."

* * *

Hoof beats and shouts, up that way. Vince pursed his lips, cocking his head. He made a guess as to which would be the path he'd take from the Mission with riders chasing him, came up with two... flipped a mental coin and picked one.

There. A flash of blonde hair, and glint of moonlight on metal. He checked the mare's leg in its holster, and lifted the rifle to his shoulder. Waited.

Apparently, she'd seen him, or something she liked, for she angled in his direction... After a moment, a pair of riders came into sight, moving way too fast for the twists and turns of the passages between adobe buildings here.

They saw her, or something, and one of them shouted and pointed, with a glint of metal in the pointing hand.

Vince shot him cleanly out of the saddle, working the lever as the big '76 came down from recoil.

Barrie hit the ground in a forward roll, and came up to one knee facing back the way she came. Fired twice with Kevin's carbine, neat and quick, and the other horse reared. A rider, arms flailing wildly, fell off the back to the ground.

Vin winced as the bucking horse proved not to be too careful of what it stomped in the confined area before it got itself sorted out and took off running back the way it came.

Heidi came up to her feet and moved, quickly, but smoothly and deliberately, and caught the reins of the other guy's bronc. Led it over to where Vince was sliding a spare round into his rifle magazine.

A nice buckskin. Heidi gave him a short, tight nod. "Thanks."

"Forget to be just awful quiet?" A slight smile touched Vince's lips.

"Naw. Was quiet enough," Heidi said. "Just my timing was off, is all."

"That'll do it. See anything interesting?"

"Yup." Heidi nodded. "Girls were all right when I saw them. But I had to leave in just an awful hurry. Locals seemed to be a might touchy about being woken up late."

"Fancy that."

"At least I got me a nice new horse. Goes with my new rifle."

* * *

Nothing to do now but wait. He'd always hated this part. Or was that Soldier Boy who's always hated it? Naw. Hurry up and wait took hold when fighting demons on the Hellmouth, too.

Sometimes, there always came a point where you'd done all the research you could, made all the plans you could, gotten all the weapons ready, made all your preparations... and then all there was to do was hang out until showtime. And it really, really sucked.

Patience is a virtue. Unfortunately, it's a learned one, not inborn.

"Patience my ass," Xander drawled. "I want to kill something."

Vince raised an eyebrow, and then grinned at him, and looked down, continuing to touch up the edge on his long Bowie. Heidi did likewise, working on adjusting the sling on her Winchester. She added a drop of oil to the magazine tube band swivel, and went back to working it slowly back and forth, making sure there were no squeaks or scrapings.

They'd made it back all right, late last night, just about the time Xander had been ready to finish off fingernails and start on his fingertips.

"Don't worry, kid," John T. said. "You'll get plenty of chances."

"Yeah, I know," Xander said. "It's funny though." People looked up at him, and he elaborated, "Sitting in a hide waiting doesn't bother me. But sitting around with my thumb up my ass _waiting_ for it to be time to be waiting, drives me nuts."

"That's because when you're sitting behind those rifle sights," Glenn said, "You know that something's gonna happen sooner or later."

"Usually all too soon," Kevin said, nodding.

Xander nodded, and glanced up at the clock again. Still just one thirty in the afternoon. No, wait. Click. One thirty-_one_. Cool. Progress.

Let's see. Late July. Sunset at around eight-ish. Call it... eight twenty or so, give or take a bit. Means full dark is at close to nine. And an hour past, ten P.M.

Yup. Way too much time to kill before it was, well, time to kill.

Be well, Cordelia. Remember Rule One: Don't die. Because I don't know what I'll do without you...

Damned good lunch. Jules outdid himself. Thick cut pork chops, skillet gravy, eggs, fresh from the oven biscuits... Elena had come by with Bianca again, bringing more fresh eggs, buttermilk, and assorted odds and ends for the larder. And another huge batch of fried chicken from Southerby's. A pity Colorado was dead. They could use that guitar and that voice to while away the hours here.

After a bit, he realized he was humming, then singing softly under his breath. '_Show me the Way_,' by Styx. Appropriate.

Glenn looked over, smiling. "Catchy tune."

Xander shrugged. "Can't dance. Might as well sing."

The alarm bell ringing in the corner broke up the conversation before it could go anywhere. Vince looked out the rifle slit flap while Chollo went to talk to Jules.

"Looks to be a couple of riders. Stillwell's, I think," Vince said. "The Indian and Courtland."

Xander blinked, and then the corners of his lips quirked. He hoped they were just here to talk, otherwise the Native American was going to be vanishing awful fast.

Chollo came back and confirmed it. "Just sitting there outside the gate, hands on their saddle horns, waiting. Looks like they want to talk."

Dude pushed his hat back, and sighed. "Well, I can't see what we have to talk about, but hell – let's go see what they want."

Xander looked to Vince and got a nod. "Want us up top again?" Xander said.

"Up top," Dude said, nodding. "Doubt they'll have rifles up, but... "

"You never know," Vince said.

"And the fact that Lazenby, Sharp, and McKay are still around out there with sharpshooting guns makes me nervous," Xander said.

"Well, it should," Chance said.

"All right. Barrie? You're with the three of us," Dude said. "Glenn, Kev?"

"I know. Back door," Kevin said. "On it."

.

Nothing moved anywhere that might be a hostile vantage point. Maybe they _were_ teachable. And the wind must have been right again, because the voices from out front drifted up pretty clear again.

Heh. The Scriptwriter got his eras and genres mixed up, looks like. The 'Indian' was a slightly older Branscombe Richards. Richmond. Whatever. And Courtland still reminded Xander slightly of the long haired, drugstore cowboy gunfighter from what was it... ah. Quick and the Dead. He hoped Gene Hackman wasn't yet another bad guy around here.

He also hoped that Lance, err, Courtland, was as overblown as he'd been in QATD. Easier to handle, then. But probably not. Nothing ever came easy on the Hellmouth.

.

"Marshall," Courtland said, nodding down from the back of his horse. "Just here to talk."

"So, talk," Dude said.

Courtland nodded again. "Stillwell, Wilkins, and Maitland want to make sure you're ready for tonight," he said. "Make sure everything goes the way it's supposed to."

"We're ready," Dude said. "And making sure it goes as it should is up to your guys."

"You know," the other one said, "You were smart, you'd just let young Maitland go. Save yourselves a whole lot of trouble."

"And you were smart," John T. drawled, "you and Courtland would ride on out of here and not stop." He smiled. "Save yourselves a whole lot of trouble."

"No trouble for us," the man said easily.

Courtland looked down at Heidi. "I'm given to understand that Wilkins is not real happy with you," he said. "Something about not giving proper notice."

"And Wilkins' happiness is so very important to me. Shucks and all," Heidi said. "Life is full of unhappiness."

"Especially short ones," Courtland said, smiling.

Heidi cocked her head, looking up speculatively at him. She smiled, slowly. "Wilkins is running a bit short of gun fighters these days. Be a real shame if Stillwell ran into the same problem."

"Barrie," John T. said, a bit sharply.

Dude lifted the coach gun's muzzles slightly, bringing Courtland's focus abruptly back to him. "You've had your say. Anything else?"

"Not at all, Marshall," Courtland said. "A pleasure doing business with you."

"Speaking of plans," Chollo said, "Wilkins or Stillwell send you with any particulars on how this goes down? Or do we just wing it?"

"How to's are yours and Wilkins business," Courtland said. "We just work here." He clucked to the tall black and white paint, and started it backing carefully away from the little group. The other followed suit.

"You know, Dude," Courtland said, backing up, "Putting badges on girls? Must be scraping the bottom of the barrel here."

Heidi's left hand blurred, and there were two shots so close together they sounded like one. Courtland's reins parted ahead of his fist and the paint swapped ends suddenly, bucking and rearing.

Courtland hit the dirt flat on his back in the middle of the street, and the Indian froze suddenly as a sharp whistle came from up above and behind them. He glanced up quickly, and became really still.

Must've seen Xander's long High-wall trained on him... he became even more still when he saw Chance's Winchester aimed between his eyes.

Courtland levered himself up out of the dirt, groaning, and back up to his feet. The glare he shot at Heidi was pure malevolence.

"Not so close to the bottom, I'm thinking," Chollo said.

"And I'm thinking you're walking back to the Mission," Dude said. The paint had taken off down the street, all this apparently being too much for its nerves. "Best get started."

"You'll regret that, Barrie," Courtland said, still glaring at her.

"Already do," Heidi said. "Was aiming for your gun hand, but this thing pulls right." She smiled at him, all sugar sweet. "Know to allow for that now. Best move on."

"Barrie," Dude said, an implicit warning in his tone of voice.

Chance followed them with his rifle sights as they moved down the street, Courtland limping away on foot.

"Well, damn," Heidi said, a bit of wonder in her voice. "That trick _does_ work."

"Like I told Harris," Dude drawled. "Nice trick, but it's a bit chancy. And I'm thinking you'll be looking for a new job, too, once this is over."

"I do get my forty for _this_ month though, right?"

* * *

"Deputy Harris." Devlin Bishop nodded to him as he came back into the cell block area. Xander noticed that the long ten gauge barrel didn't shift any from where it pointed into Maitland's cell, from across the old man's lap. "What brings you here? We don't seem to get many visitors."

"Somehow I'm not surprised, Deputy Bishop," Xander said, "We seem to keep shooting at the ones we do get." He grinned.

"Hah. You are not wrong there," Devlin said. His eyebrows went up and he looked inquiringly at Xander.

"Wanted to have a brief word or two with our prisoner," Xander said.

"Ah. Words only?"

"I have no quarrel with him," Xander said, shrugging. "My quarrel is with his father and Wilkins, now."

"Good enough," Devlin said. He raised the Winchester so that it aimed upward at the ceiling. "Go ahead."

Xander went to the bars and stood looking at Maitland's son for a time. Blake Maitland looked back at him, and neither one spoke.

Finally, Blake was the first one to break the silence.

"Something I can do for you, sir?" he said, sitting up on the edge of his bunk, and facing Xander.

"Not really. Just occurred to me that we never did really meet the few times we actually met," Xander said.

"Not really the best circumstances on either occasion, Mister Harris," Blake said. His eyes flickered to the badge on Xander's vest, and he said, "Deputy Harris."

"No, they were not," Xander said, nodding. He cocked his head, studying the young, but slightly older man. Sadly, perhaps, he found that he kind of liked what he saw. A pity, that.

Not a sniveler, unlike a lot of kids turned sour Xander had seen in Western movies and shows as a kid. The younger Maitland met Xander's eyes evenly, blue eyes to brown, and didn't flinch. He kind of wondered what happened there... how someone who had money, stood to inherit power and lands, and all that went with, got so bored or so stupid they ended up running with the likes of Jack O'Toole and Bill Corby. And falling into this.

Maybe he had a part of the answer in Cordelia and her Cordettes, but still... Even when Cordy had taken to breaking laws, trespassing on Army bases, and stealing government weapons, she's been doing it with people who were more or less on the side of the angels. Mostly. And doing it in a good cause.

Didn't get much better of a cause than saving the world.

Not running around drunk and acting bad ass and ending up shooting people by accident. And then compounding it by kidnapping two more, and trying to shoot your way out of it. But he supposed anyone could panic...

He supposed he could ask, but he found he wasn't _that_ curious, and he didn't really care.

"Kind of wondering what you think about all of this?" Xander said, finally.

"I'm not real sure my opinions matter at this point, sir," Maitland said, frowning. Xander waited, and finally Maitland shrugged and said, "I think it's a really bad situation, sir, and it's going to get a lot worse." He paused, and then added, "And I don't believe it is going to end well, especially for me."

Xander nodded, his arms folded across his chest. "Would it worry you for me to say that that last part doesn't really bother me much, either way?"

"No, sir," Maitland said, smiling slightly. "In some ways, you remind me a little bit too much of Tor Hauer and Heidi Barrie."

Xander snorted an almost laugh, a bit surprised. "Well, at least you didn't say Jack O'Toole and Kyle DuFours," he said, "Or Bill Corby."

Maitland gave out a surprised laugh at that one. "No. You strike me as being able to be mean, but not cowardly and vicious."

"They're dead," Xander said, abruptly. "Kyle and Jack. I killed them, both of them." he cocked his head, still studying the other man. "Mostly because I got tired of having to face off with them, and ended it."

"I am not surprised, sir," Maitland said. "After the Eagle, I saw that coming." He looked up and Xander, studying him in turn, and said, "Is it true that my father kidnapped your girl to trade for me?"

"That was Wilkins, actually," Xander said, nodding. "But your father is helping all the way, and standing by it." He paused, and added, "I gave him a chance to change his mind. He didn't."

Maitland nodded. "My father doesn't change his mind, once he sets on a course," he said. "Whatever happens with the exchange... He's going to kill you, you know. Or at least make his best possible effort to do so."

"Been tried," Xander said. "An awful lot just since I got back to Sunnydale, it seems."

He was abruptly tired of the conversation. He hadn't learned anything. Hadn't really expected to, he decided.

Hadn't really changed his mind on anything, but he hadn't expected that, either. He turned and headed out of the cell block, inclining his head to Devlin as he did so.

At the doorway, Xander paused, his hand on the frame, and then turned back.

"You know?" Xander said, his face expressionless, "I _am_ a bit surprised at your old man. If it were me, I'd keep Cordelia and let the rope have _you_." He smiled, looking the younger Maitland directly in the eyes, adding, "She's worth about twenty of you."

_That_ got the flinch, the first one he'd seen during the entire conversation. Xander nodded and turned away again.

"I'd get some sleep if I were you," he said, coldly. "No need to die tired."

.

He met Dude as he came out, leaning against a wall in the little cross passage from the jail corridor leading to the little stables.

Dude frowned slightly. "I'd say that last was a bit harsh, but I don't really think that way."

Xander shrugged. "I'm planning to send Heidi out about three-thirty or four, to go and get the man I mentioned," he said. "The one who knows about this stuff."

Surprisingly to him, Dude didn't object, only nodded. "Going to send Vin out as well, and have him bring back the priests and monks from last night," he said. When Xander raised his eyebrows, Dude explained, "Want a better layout and idea of the place than Barrie's. She saw it mostly in the dark and on the run. And I want it fresh in our minds before we go in."

"Makes sense," Xander said. "I should have thought of that."

"You've had a lot on your mind, kid," Dude said. "I'm going to ask: who are you sending Barrie for?"

Xander told him, and Dude's eyebrows reached new heights.

"Mr. Giles? The _school teacher_?" Dude said, a bit incredulously. "He's one of this secret organization that knows about this stuff?"

Xander grinned. "Yup. Great cover, huh?"

* * *

**.**


	29. There's Just no Planning Like -

**Chapter Twenty-eight: There's Just no Planning Like Over-planning...**

* * *

"_The proper response to a briefing is _not_'__That's what _you_ think__'__.__"_ ― 213 Things Skippy is no Longer Allowed to do in the United States Army

* * *

Well, they had a layout. And a plan, of sorts.

Of course, the plan pretty much involved shooting a lot of people, but that was to be expected, Xander thought. _He'd_ certainly expected it, anyway.

* * *

Father Montoya, Father Jon, Brother David, and Brother William had arrived first, Vince leading them in carefully through the back way. They arrived just shortly ahead of Heidi, Giles, and Aaron, so very little time got wasted.

Good. Xander was getting itchy to stop wasting time. Plenty of other worthwhile things to waste.

They were settled into the Marshal's office's big living room for this. More people here, and they needed the room.

Both of his eyebrows went up abruptly when he saw Reginald Giles unsling a large bore double rifle from his shoulder and set it near the chair he was about to settle into. And Aaron with a large bore Farquharson single-shot with a long scope sight. Aaron looked more than just a bit self conscious with the long weapon. And frighteningly pale and determined.

"Africa?" Xander asked, his brows still raised.

Giles started a bit, raising his own eyebrow, then smiled tightly. "No. India. I stayed there for some amount of time in my youth, after I left Her Majesty's Lancers."

Xander nodded, and Chance eyed Jonathan a bit dubiously while that little conversation was going on. "Can you actually use that there thing, son?" he asked.

Aaron swallowed hard, nodding. "Yes sir. I'm a better than reasonably good shot. And Deputy Harris says you need rifles."

"Ever shoot at men?" Dude asked, looking a bit skeptical.

"No sir, Marshall," Aaron said. "But I'm pretty sure it can't be any more difficult than shooting deer. Except that deer don't shoot back, sir."

Heidi had been studying Aaron curiously and intently as well. She looked over at Dude and nodded. "He'll do."

Dude shook his head, and said, "Oh? And I suppose that you have the Sight, in addition to being just awfully quiet and awfully sharp of hearing, huh?"

"Well, yeah," Heidi blinked at him, her eyes wide and innocent. "Doesn't _everyone_?"

Heidi was saved from whatever Dude's rejoinder was going to be when Reginald opened the large, leather box type case he'd brought in with them. Both Dude and Chance looked down into it and whistled, John T. pushing his hat back on his head.

Xander stood and leaned forward a bit to get a look. He whistled also, as did Vince.

"As I mentioned to Deputy Harris, if I had time, I would attempt to come up with something that might make this task a bit easier as well as give us an edge," Giles said, smiling a bit grimly. "As you can see, I was able to do so."

"Dynamite?" Dude said.

"And nitroglycerine compound in the flat metal flasks," Giles said, nodding. "Timed devices."

Everyone backed away, hastily.

Giles frowned, and Xander did his best to hide a grin. Nitro _was_ dangerous, but it wasn't nearly as volatile as a lot of people thought, nor as prone to going off unexpectedly as movies and TV and novels had given generations of people the idea it did. You just had to be real careful, was all.

"Please, it's not _that_ touchy a substance," Giles said, still frowning slightly. "Perfectly safe as long as it's handled carefully and not subjected to any sharp shocks." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Besides, it's not actually nitro_glycerine_ per se. It's a nitro derivative compound of my own devising that's actually more effective, and more stable. Err... Generally."

Everyone backed even farther away. Giles began to look highly affronted.

"It's the unexpected sharp shocks that worry me," Dude said. Glenn and Kevin nodded enthusiastically at that.

"I've worked with it before," Chance said. "And he's right."

Vince pursed his lips, and said, "Me too."

"Don't tell me, let me guess," Xander said, his voice dry, "You get by with explosive ordnance, too."

"Been known to," Vince said, smiling slightly.

"Anything you _don't_ get by at?" Dude said.

"Well, like I told the kid here," Vince said, looking thoughtful, "I've never ridden a bicycle. And I'm not too sure about these horseless carriages."

"How are they timed," Xander asked, looking to Giles curiously. "Electric?"

"Ah. No. Mechanical chronometer and clockwork with an impact trigger for the blasting caps. And a secondary as a backup," Giles said. "Since I haven't been able to concoct a small and portable enough battery as of yet, and no one else seems to have, either."

"And don't tell me that _you_ get by with explosives, son," Chance said, looking at Xander.

"Well, no, not exactly. But Cordy and I stole a bunch of them once. Kinda."

* * *

Young Maitland swallowed hard, staring at them, and said, "You can't do that. It's murder."

They'd had to bring him in once the layout and situation became clear, and Giles explained one of the ideas he had... Needless to say, the concept wasn't going over well.

Xander glanced over, his eyes hard. He didn't say anything, just continued readying his rifles, set them aside, and started working on the edge of Jack's long, ebony handled Arkansas toothpick. He still hadn't decided what to do with the thing, yet. On the one hand, Heidi had confirmed it was used on Jesse, way back when.

On the other, Jesse would be the first to tell him not to be an idiot, and not throw a perfectly good weapon away because of sentiment. So he was of two minds on it, as of yet.

Father Joseph Montoya winced. "I'm afraid I must agree," he said. He glanced a bit nervously at Xander. For some reason, Xander seemed to disconcert him a bit. So did Heidi.

Father Jon nodded. "And the Mission... "

Xander shook his head. "Excuse me, Padre. Padres," he said, his voice sounding a bit cold to his own ears. "Meaning no disrespect, except that maybe I do – but, the _hell_ you say. Wilkins has Cordelia. And Ampata – sorry, _Ianara_, and intends to use them for some sort of sacrifice to the things _you're_ supposed to be fighting. That _I've_ been fighting since I was sixteen. _Fuck_ the Mission. And fuck Blake Maitland."

Both priests and the two brothers winced at his phrasing.

Xander continued, scowling. "Odin's Teeth. I'll kill anyone, walk over or _through_ anyone or anything that gets between me and Cordy. Blow up anyone or anything that tries to stop me. Little property damage isn't going to bother me." He paused, and said, "I'll _burn_ that entire mission, raze it to the ground, and see this entire town burn – and salt what's left and piss on the ashes before I'll see Cordy hurt. Lead, follow, or get the fuck out of my way."

John T. looked at him sharply, "Easy, kid."

Vince shrugged, and lit the cigarette he'd been rolling. "Sorry, Maitland. Guess you lose."

"Easy hell, John T.," Xander said. "I'm _done_ with _easy_. I'm all out of easy."

Chance looked at him hard. "You sure that a lot of this isn't coming from you blaming yourself for bringing her into this? And maybe for getting her taken?"

Xander opened his mouth, glaring, and then stopped. Shut it, looking ruefully at John T. "I don't have an answer for that. At least not one that won't come out as something that can't be taken back between us."

John T. stared back at him, and then nodded sharply, and smiled. "It happens. And you didn't cause it," he said, "But that doesn't mean you don't _think_ you might have." Xander nodded back, carefully.

Father Joseph holds up hands, trying to placate. "Believe me, son. I don't believe that Father Jon meant that the way you were taking it." Father Jon shook his head, looking somewhat shaken. "I'll raze the Mission myself before I'll see those girls harmed. But there's an old saying... He who would hunt monsters – "

Giles nodded, and said, "Should take care lest he become a monster himself. Yes."

Xander nodded as well. "I heard it as: Don't gaze too deep into the abyss, for the abyss is gazing back into you." He paused, and added, "Wilkins created the monster when he stuck a derringer under Cordy's chin, and he and that _thing_ next to him decided to use her as a bargaining chip. Time for _him_ to look into the abyss and see what looks back. It'll be me."

"You'll have to beg my pardon, Mr. Maitland, good Fathers." Giles removed his glasses and began cleaning them, smiling tightly. "I'm given to understand that this young fellow and his friends were party to the death of a young woman, merely because he was a drunken fool, and his friend was drunken and careless." He looked directly at Maitland, "Forgive me if I am lacking in sympathy for you," he said.

Xander nodded. That's Giles for you. This or any other universe, Ripper is still in there somewhere...

Aaron adjusted _his_ glasses nervously. "I just want Ianara back. A-and to stop Wilkins from activating that thing under the mission. Reginald says that will be bad. Very bad."

Xander nodded, and looked at Father Joseph and Brother David. Ah. So that's what 'askance' feels like, he thought.

"Can't believe you guys built a mission over an inactive Hellmouth, for Hecate's sake," Xander said. "Of course, I can't believe they built a high school over the _active_ one, either."

Dude looked at him sharply at that, then frowned. "What'll this thing do, if Wilkins gets his way?"

Xander cut over Giles as he started to speak. "End the world, maybe. Give things like _Trick_ a way to end it." He paused, looking at Chance, and said, "Hell, he'll turn this town into a feeding and partying ground for things like Trick and the Gorch brothers, like I said before. A bit of why 'easy' isn't on my menu."

Giles nodded, and explained in a bit more detail. "It will, err, activate a latent rift in the, err, dimensional fabric, for lack of a better term. The barriers between here, and the nether regions," he said. He replaced his glasses, and added, "And it will, once active, make it possible for people or various beings to open that rift and let loose the forces of those regions upon this world."

"Hell on Earth," Xander said. "Not just an expression, any more. And I never thought I'd ever have to learn the plural of Apocalypse, but there you go."

Chance scowled and looked away, his expression troubled.

"I don't really understand this 'active' and 'inactive' thing, though," Xander said. "I thought there was just one kind: active."

"Ah." Giles shook his head, and said, "There is more than one Hellmouth, nine of them, to be exact. But only _one_ is ever fully active at a _time_. The others are latent, or sometimes nascent rifts that may become a Hellmouth at some time. I believe the c_urrent_ active one is just outside of Calcutta in India. And there is a partially active one in Cleveland. But the fully active one will shift to _here_, if Wilkins is successful."

"I don't know about this," Dude said, also scowling. He gestured at the explosive devices, including the one with the straps. "I'll bow to no man for my ability to do what's needed, cold or not. But that just doesn't set well with me for some reason."

Blake Maitland spoke for the first time since his initial outburst, looking pale and nervous. "I-I'll do it."

Everyone looked at him.

Maitland gestured. "Wear that thing. I'll do it."

Dude looked sharply at him, and said, "You know what you're saying?"

Maitland nodded, drawing in a deep breath. "Pretty sure, sir. Marshall." he let out the deep breath, sounding ragged. "I'll hang in Sacramento, won't I. When the State and Federal Marshalls get here."

Chance rumbled, "Maybe not. But it don't look good for you. California law right now don't draw much of a line between murder and accessory to." He paused, then added, "And any deaths caused in the commission of a felony are murder."

Maitland nodded, taking another deep breath, "That thing will be quicker than hanging. Especially if it doesn't go right, like I've seen it not do, sir."

Xander felt slightly impressed, and hid it behind a show of disgust. He glanced at Heidi, and saw something similar in her eyes. "Hell. I liked him better when he was pale and shaking instead of pale and noble."

Heidi flashed a quick sympathetic grin at Xander, then looked at Maitland, and said, "Well, not if your daddy gets his way. He's trying to make sure you don't hang."

Maitland grimaced. "My father doesn't really _care_. It's just a matter of principle to him. All he cares about is becoming the biggest and most powerful man in the state. Bigger than Chase – and able to _control_ men like Wilkins, and governors, and senators. Money and power." He turned to face Xander, and said, "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean for Brett to get shot. I didn't mean for Melody to die. Or for your girl, or Aaron's to be taken. I didn't mean for any of this."

Xander shook his head, looking and feeling disgusted, "Oh, hell. We can't blow him up now. He's turning into an actual human being on us. Dammit."

"Hate it when that happens." Vince smiled.

Brother David was wearing a slight frown. "How will Wilkins go about activating this... thing, Mr. Giles?" he said.

Giles said, removing his glasses again. "By my calculations, the full dark of the moon is in just under a week, now. And at least one more mystical conjunction as well, coincidentally. He has a virgin sacrifice, and he can sacrifice Miss Chase, as well, using her blood to appease one of his greater patrons, perhaps an Arch Demon or some such. And then draw upon that power to funnel into the activation ritual." He paused, shaking his head, looking grim, and said, "And once the Marshall, myself, Mr. Chance, and Mr. Harris are dead, there won't be anyone with the ability to prevent him from doing so."

"Good God, this is like something from a Dime Novel horror story," Maitland said, turning even paler. "And my _father_ wants to _help_ him do this?"

Giles frowned. "Yes, well. I don't quite understand it, but for some reason... all of my calculation and my consultation with the Spirit Guides indicate that, ah, for some reason, the _reason_ that young Master Harris and young Miss Chase are even _here_ is to _prevent_ him from doing so."

"He prevented himself. Minute he put a gun to Cordy's head, he became a walking corpse. He just hasn't lain down yet," Xander said. He shrugged.

Heidi looked at Dude. "Dude, if you knew some of the things that go on behind the scenes here, you'd have already burned this town to the ground," she said. "There's things under the homes and lands and grounds of people like Wilkins, Maitland, and Stillwell that you don't want to know about."

Dude scowled at her, shaking his head. "And if that's right: _you_ were a party to it, Barrie."

Heidi shrugged. "Things we didn't want to know either. And for a long time, we were able to fool ourselves we _weren't_ a party to them."

Xander picked up his Winchester '85 and worked the lever, dropping the block and opening the breech. "I'll take down Lazenby, Sharps, and McKay. And any other sharpshooters he has that can stop us. Levinson?" He gave Aaron a skeptical look. Not that he didn't trust Heidi's senses by now, but... this was _Cordy_ they were discussing.

Aaron swallowed hard, nodded. "It doesn't take much to kill. Just a fraction of an inch, and a few ounces of pressure. I'll do my part."

"Well, hell," Dude was quiet for some time, then he shook his head again. He looked at Maitland, and said, again, "Well, hell. We _have_ to get those gates open, take down at least some of that wall, and eliminate a lot of those guns in a hurry. Or we're dead. So, if you really _are_ stupid enough to be willing, it looks like you're nominated."

"And elected," Vince said.

* * *

Wilkins had left open the little peep window in the door after looking in on them personally. Cordelia knew it was to disconcert her... and it was working. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of glancing up to see her looking out at what he was doing –

She just couldn't help it.

"What's he doing?" Ianara asked as Cordelia turned away from the door, again. And swearing, _again_, that it would be the last time she'd look out.

"Drawing some sort of sacrificial ritual thing on the floor," Cordelia said. Blunt... but no one was sugar coating life for _her_, and she wasn't going to start doing so for other people.

Ianara nodded. "He's not planning to let you go, is he," she said, disconcertingly perceptive. "Or me, either."

"He's not _planning_ to do anything of the kind," Cordelia said, huffing angrily. "Our job is to make sure _our_ plans interfere with _his_."

"And you have a plan?" Ianara's lips twitched, not quite a smile.

"No." Cordelia admitted. "But I'm not letting that stop me." She only wished she _felt_ as confident as she sounded in her own ears.

Ianara did laugh at that, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I'm not brave like you are."

"You're brave enough," Cordelia said. "And I'm not as brave as I'd like to be."

They sat in silence for a while. Nothing to do but wait, anyway. No idea what time it was, or how close to the exchange.

Wilkins came to the little window, looking in, and Cordelia went to see what he wanted, tossing her hair angrily.

"Well, it's almost time now," he said, cheerfully. "Are you excited? I know I am."

"What do you want, Wilkins," Cordelia said. She examined his face as if it were something stuck to her shoe.

"Oh, just to see how you're holding up," Wilkins said, smiling. "And to let you know that I have big plans. Big plans, and _you're_ an integral part of them now. You should feel honored."

"You really are completely and absolutely insane, aren't you," Cordelia said, still studying him.

"Now now. There is no need for that, young lady," Wilkins said, still smiling genially at her through the window. "And you won't feel much like being insulting later. You'll be too busy pleading and wishing you'd been nicer."

"Yup. Completely and absolutely batshit insane. Bonkers. Thirty bricks shy of a wall. Elevator's not going all the way up," Cordelia said, her voice and her smile just as cheerful as his. "A few French fries short of a Happy Meal, not that _that_ one will mean anything to you."

"My. What a vituperative little thing." Wilkins shook his head, making a _tsking_ sound. He jerked his head towards the diagram, and said, "It's a little bit early for this, really, but Belfagorius won't really care. And power keeps really well in places like this. You'd be surprised."

Cordelia tilted her head. "I thought you were exchanging me for Maitland's kid," she said.

"Oh, I am. I am," Wilkins said. "But there's nothing that says that trade will go the way that your young paramour and your friends think it will."

Cordelia nodded. "You're going to die. And I'm going to be there."

"An admirable sentiment. I wholly approve," he said. "But I'm afraid that that's not how it is going to work."

* * *

"All right," Xander said. Again. He checked his revolvers one more time. One more time couldn't hurt, right?

Heidi shook her head. "Oh, for... settle down, Boss. You'd think you'd never done this before."

"I know. I have," Xander said. "It's just... "

"I know. This is your girl," Vince said. "And that means it's for all the marbles."

"Right." Xander sighed. Closed his eyes, and took in a deep, raggedy breath. Let it out slowly...

He spun the five-and-half inch Hamilton-Grover into its holster, his hand suddenly smooth and sure. "Right, then." He picked the long target revolver from the table, and slid it away, doing the same with Jack's two revolvers, one by one.

"Better," Heidi said. She nodded approvingly, after cocking her head and giving him a critical once over.

"No nerves at all, yourself, huh?" Vince asked her.

"Had nerves once," Heidi said. "Got rid of them. They only got in the way."

Xander frowned at Vince as the other was putting on a worn shoulder rig with a satin chromed four and three-quarter inch Colt Bisley. "Thought I distinctly heard you say in the pistol shoot that you'd 'been needing a new six-gun'."

Vince gave him a sharp look and a puzzled frown. "Did. Didn't say I didn't already have an old one." He checked over his grand prize Hamilton-Grover, the one Deke Matthews had contributed to the cause, spun the cylinder along his arm to check the loads, and holstered it.

Xander shook his head, bemused. "So you didn't," he said. "So you didn't."

Simple plan. Kind of like the old slogan: be kind, be courteous, and have a plan for killing everyone you meet. He and Vin and Heidi were going to go up to the highest vantage point in town, the upper floors of the Sunnydale Arms, and make sure there weren't any nasty surprises on rooftops or in windows. Or in church steeples and bell towers. And clear them with rifle fire as needed, if so.

And then signal, come back for their horses, and find a good vantage point or two along the planned route to the exchange to set up and make sure that the little group made it without interference from upstairs.

Not God upstairs upstairs. No, no interference from the firm of Lazenby, Sharp, and McKay.

And then go in the back way while Dude, John T. and the others went in through the blasted out front. Simple.

One last check through, anyway. But not compulsively neurotic this time. Just... professionalism.

A soft calfskin shirt in brown, with a black leather vest over that. And the shoulder holster, Jack's seven and a half inch Lone Star Arms .44, cartridge carrier, and knife rig with his bowie, over that. Black jeans, with copper rivets. Two-tone brown stovepipe chaps over those, and the gunbelt over that, low on the hips, with both Hamilton-Grovers and a full load of thirty-six .44 Special semi-wadcutters in the belt loops. Jack's bowie knife – he'd decided to keep that – and a pair of six round carriers of long .40-140-3 1/2" at the front, for a total of twelve.

The casual carry belt and rig at the waist, over the pants belt and chaps waistband, with Jack's bird's head gripped .44 in the concealment holster. Four six round carriers of .40-82 Winchester flat-point at the back, and two more at the front. Total of 36 rounds. Twelve more in the butt carrier on the '86, seven in the stock's cartridge trap, and twelve in the sling cartridge loops. Can't get it done with sixty-seven rounds, it's just not doable, at least not by you.

You're usually just too long dead to get 'er done by then.

Bottom of the chaps unsnapped at right and left, left for access to the horn gripped hunting knife in the inside boot sheath, right to give access to the eight inch stag handled Tanto style knife in its sheath in the outside boot top. Horn gripped skinning knife in the right inside boot sheath.

Dark brown duster over all of that, with Jesse's battered, rolled and flat brimmed Aussie hat on top.

And a full load of .40-140-3 1/2": twelve in the cartridge carrier around the stock, twelve more in the cartridge loops in the broad leather sling, eight in the cartridge trap. And a bandolier cartridge belt with an additional fifty looped over his shoulder –

– Sure, and if you couldn't get 'er done with sixty-seven, you couldn't do 'er... but there was gonna be a lot of rifle work tonight. No sense in being chintzy with ammo. Not so much for Cordy's Winchester and drilling, but he wasn't planning to fight with those, much. If at all. Most all of _her_ ammo was on her horse.

So she'd have it handy when he got her back.

Heh. He'd feel like Matthew Quigley, except he couldn't match Tom Selleck's six-four or six-five of height, and his mustache. And _Xander_ didn't mind using a handgun. Damned good thing that he _here_ was in good shape, or he'd be bowed down from all the weight...

He grinned. Heidi looked like a female mini-him, in doeskin shirt, brown leather jeans, black chaps, and a black leather vest. Just with a black denim jacket and a black Stetson instead. Oh, and a much shorter rifle, of course.

Xander looked around. Dude, John T., Vince, Heidi, Glenn, Kevin, Chollo, and him... something familiar about all of this, and then it hit him, suddenly.

"Heh. Feel like I'm in the Magnificent Seven, here." Plus Giles and Aaron, of course, but hey – The Seven had extras, too.

There were raised eyebrows all around.

Dude asked, "Yeah? And what might that be, kid?"

Xander smiled. "Oh, just a story I... read once," he said. "By a man named Kurosawa. 'Bout a group of samurai going to face impossible odds against a group of serious villains, for a village that barely wanted them there doing it."

Heidi frowned. "Isn't that the Japanese guys with the swords? We're not samurai, Xan."

Xander smiled a bit broader and crookeder, and shook his head. "_Hell_ we're not, Didi. Or, ronin, anyway. This?" He waved his hand at their little main team, "Is what being _Samurai_ is all about. I _get_ it now."

Chance looked at him, and said, gruffly, "Get what, kid?"

Xander shook head, wonderingly, his gaze suddenly distant. "What Cordy was trying to tell me. She just didn't have the words... " He said, and paused. "Not _about_ being a bad ass, or a hard case. It's about being _Samurai_."

Vince adjusted his hat, pursed his lips, and shrugged. "Hell. You say so." He drew the mare's leg, checked and re-holstered it. Picked up his 1876 and worked the lever to chamber a round, then topped off the magazine.

Xander shrugged, "Then again, the hell do I know?" He picked up his long rifle and slung it, and picked up the Model '86. Made sure he had plenty of cartridges. He slipped a pair of boxes of rifle rounds into one duster pocket, and two boxes of .44 Special in the other. Good enough. He thought about the message he'd sent, and Uncle Rory's reply. Oh well. It'd either all come together, or it wouldn't.

Either way, he was going in to get his girl back.

Heidi picked up the two lariats she'd pulled from the storeroom, and slung them cross body like bandoliers, and picked up her new Winchester. "All right. Time to clear a few rooftops."

"Yup." Vince smiled tightly. "Like the man keeps saying: Let's go get dangerous."

* * *

**.**


	30. Can't Start a Fire Without a Spark -

**Chapter Twenty-nine: Can't Start a Fire Without a Spark...**

* * *

"_War is not its own end, except in some catastrophic slide into absolute damnation. It's peace that's wanted. Some better peace than the one you started with.__"_ ― Lois McMaster Bujold (from "The Vor Game")

* * *

Haversham was more than happy to have a room cleared on one of the next to the top floors of the hotel, on the corner towards Dude's offices. _Next_ to the top, because they didn't want to be so high the angle was too acute for shooting down into windows if needs be.

They hadn't had any issues getting here without being shot at, but, then again, they'd been sneaky about it.

Xander reflected again that while he was no Vince, Tor, or Heidi, he did get by.

While one of the bellmen went up to clear the room they'd requested, Haversham looked at them nervously. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "I feel I must mention that we seem to have acquired some men on our rooftop," he looked both pained and apologetic, adding, "Who have approximately the same purpose as yourselves, I believe."

"Ah." Vince looked at him, his lips pursed thoughtfully. "Anyone of note?"

"No. I don't believe so," Haversham said. "No one I recognized at least. Just a few of Maitland and Stillwell's men, I believe, and a Deputy Sheriff."

Xander raised an eyebrow, and Haversham held up four fingers, widely spread. After a moment's hesitation, he held up one more with a raised eyebrow and a slight shrug. A possible, then. Xander nodded.

"All right," Heidi said. "Got 'em." She looked thoughtful for a minute, then nodded decisively.

"By yourself?" Vince frowned at her.

"Three second stringers and one or two of Munroe's men? Please."

"Your funeral, Didi," Xander said, smiling. "And I'd wondered why you wanted the lariats."

"Sometimes, you just have a feeling, you know?" Heidi gave him that disconcerting grin. "Second floor from the top and the front left corner facing in, right? Don't shoot me when I knock – I'll join you directly." She handed Xander his Model '86 and headed for the elevator.

"Sometimes I worry about that girl," Vince said, shaking his head.

"Only sometimes?"

* * *

Heidi found the penthouse suite with the room number she wanted without problems, just going off the hotel floor plan map. Crappy locks. A bit of jiggering with the awl blade on a jackknife opened it right up. Have to mention that to Haversham. He might want to do something about it.

The door that to the room opening out on the balcony was closed. And locked, when she tested it lightly. A bedroom, she judged. Going by a few of the sounds inside, at least.

Unslinging Kevin's model '92 Winchester, she held it pointed up in her right hand while she dealt with that little issue – by the expedient of kicking it open with a foot next to the lock and a bit of body weight.

The two people moving a bit rapidly under the covers to the accompaniment of a lot of giggling and other sounds, flew apart. The male one reached for the chair by the side table, and the gunbelt there, and froze when Heidi brought the Winchester down and smiled.

She tapped her badge. "Marshall's Office. We've had a complaint about lewd and licentious behavior going on in this room." (beat) "And I see that it's _true_."

"I wasn't aware that that was against the law here," the man said, growling.

His girlfriend, an overly buxom redhead, shook her head angrily, glaring at Heidi. "It's _not_."

"When you're right, you're right," Heidi said. "But I _am_ going to have to pass through on my way to deal with the real complaint." She jerked her head at the French doors leading onto the balcony. "No need to get up. Or dressed."

Once outside, she set the rifle aside for a moment, looking up. Nice. There was a little ornamental thingy jutting up right about where she needed it. She unslung the two lariats, and then slung the rifle again. She put on a pair of thin calfskin roping gloves...

Taking one of the lariats in hand, she waited and watched, noting shadows and vantage points, and comparing them to her memories of the layout up there as seen from the street, on all the other occasions she'd looked up, passing by. After a short wait, a shadow passed close to where she was standing, and she could see what looked like just the hint of a hat brim.

A rover, how nice.

Heidi waited until he came around again, and gave a short sharp whistle, twirling the loop in her right hand, and Mr. Rover Boy froze, then came to the edge and looked over and down into the balcony.

Idiot.

The loop settled neatly over his head and around his shoulders and upper chest. Heidi put one foot against the door jamb, and pulled it tight, leaning back and yanking with her full body weight.

Light as that was, with her braced it was more than plenty. Rover Boy was so startled, he didn't even scream until he was past the balcony and halfway down the side of the building. She let go of the rope, spun, stepped out, and caught his rifle out of the air as there came a wet thud from down below and the scream was cut short.

Heh. A nice little twenty-six inch '86 rifle with a short telescopic sight, in .40-100 Express. Purely amazing how many firearms one could collect just going about one's lawful business.

Of course, she supposed, a lot of that had to do with just what kind of business you were _in_.

No sling. A pity, that. She set it against the wall by the french doors and picked up the other lariat. Have to grab it on the way back through...

The loop settled neatly around the protruding, uh, thing she'd noted and marked before. Whatever the hell it was.

She climbed up on the balcony railing. Hopped from there to the next window ledge over, and stepped to the one next to that, then took the rope between her teeth and swarmed up to the upper sill for a bit more height. She gave the rope a hard yank. Good solid rope. Good solid thingy. Good solid hold around thingy. Good enough. She bent her knees as she jumped, for extra height, stepping off into the air and swung out along the side of the building, grinning like a maniac.

Reaching the end of the rope's arc, Heidi planted both feet against the brick wall, and kicked outward, _hard_, as she came back for the return swing. Came up, along, around, and over. And let go of the rope at the top of the arc, clearing the parapet in a flat feet first arch.

Rifleman One, obviously alerted by Rover's sudden vanishing act, was waiting for someone to clear the edge of the roof. So was his buddy up on the little roof house cupola at the other end of the building.

They just weren't expecting someone to clear it about five feet _up_, in between them and the roof peak above the central balcony, and sailing over and in, very fast.

Rifleman One tried, he really did, but his shots didn't come anywhere _near_ high enough. No idea where they did go.

Heidi landed on her feet with her knees bent about ten feet in, crouched, and with her six-guns already in her hands. She fired twice, spun, and fired twice more... throwing herself to one side and rolling with the last round.

Rifleman One and Rifleman Two crumpled at either end of the hotel roof on this side. And she heard the ripping crack of a rifle bullet tear through the air where her head had just been –

Bullets. Plural. Now, that just wasn't nice. She holstered her handguns, snapped the keepers, and unslung the Winchester from where she was laying on her back on the rooftop.

Huh. The sound of the shots had come from... there. And if he was smart, then that would mean... he'd move immediately to – _there_. And Haversham had said four, maybe five, meaning the Rover, probably. So he had a buddy, who'd be waiting... about _there_.

Right.

Heidi threw herself rolling again, to one side and toward the parapet at the edge of the space between the two rooftops of the Arms' towers. Came up to one knee firing and dropped again.

Ok. Rifleman Three done. And his buddy had been close enough to where she figured. He just hadn't been looking where she'd popped up.

And that meant... he was beating boots for the other cupola or whatever it was, towards her side of the building.

She rolled to her feet, taking several long steps back away from the edge, and then spun and ran as fast as she could at the edge. Got a foot up on the parapet wall, launched, and sailed across the gap between buildings.

Heh. The gap was just a _bit_ wider than she'd thought.

No matter. She still cleared the edge, and landed with her feet together and falling forward into a forward tumble. Shots cracked screaming off the rooftop where she'd landed.

Rifleman Four was just twisting his body like hell to bring his rifle around to where his target was _now_ when Heidi came out of the roll up onto one knee and shot him through the forehead.

* * *

Xander caught movement in the bell tower cupola above the Mission right about the time that Vince sighed heavily at the other window.

"Someone stick their head out inside of the steeple to see what all the shooting is over here?" Xander said, smiling slightly.

"I swear." Vince shook his head. "Sometimes I think these people just aren't trainable."

"Sure make our job a lot harder if they were."

"True enough." Vince cocked his head upward and inward, listening. "Sounds like Heidi is having a nice little war up there. Think I should go up and see how she's doing?"

Xander shook his head. "Naw. She'll never ever forgive you if you do."

Vince gave him a sharp look. "You don't sound very concerned."

Xander looked over at him incredulously. "About Heidi? I'd be more concerned for her _opponents_ if I gave a shit about them. Besides," he said, shrugging, "Twelve years of getting shoved into mud puddles and cow pies, and having scorpions and desert tarantulas dropped down the back of my shirt and being used as a punching bag? She could use a little shooting, sometimes."

"You're just awful cold,'" Vince said, shaking his head and hiding a smile.

Xander grinned. "And yeah, not like I really think that they're going to waste anyone up there who's capable of giving her a hard time, or I'd already be up helping out."

The firing from up outside and above had died down while they'd been talking, and there was silence once more. Temporary, at least. Not more than a few minutes passed before more shooting started up.

Vince looked out his window and frowned. "Not mine," he said.

"Nor any of mine."

Xander cocked his head, listening. The flat bark of the .44-40 had answered the sharper crack of a thirty-thirty and the flat boom of a .38-55. And then gone back and forth a few times, before the .44-40 had answered again, and the thirty-thirty went silent...

Xander nodded. "Like I was saying," he said, "Heidi and Tor aren't as fast or as accurate as you or me, maybe... but they're still more of both than around ninety percent of the guys on Stillwell or Maitland's payroll."

* * *

If she hadn't had the tie string for her hat snugged in, to hold it while she was swinging about and rolling around, she'd have lost it.

As it was, she felt it jerk hard against the tie, and the breeze of a slug damned near giving her hair a new part as it went through. She dropped flat instinctively, the following shots passing through where she'd been.

Huh. Getting entirely _too_ entertaining up here.

Flat sharp crack. Thirty-thirty or a thirty-two forty like John T.'s. And angling upwards and forwards, going by the holes in her hat. Third round was a .38-55, through the space where she'd been. Assuming she remembered how she'd been standing correctly... She replaced the hat and snugged it on again. Bastard. Bas-_tards_. Plural.

Damned hat was _new_.

Shooting at a Deputy Marshall. There outta be a law. Oh, wait... Heidi grinned to herself. Damned if she wasn't having the time of her life up here. She was just awful glad Vin hadn't come along. Damn, but Tor would love this.

So. Down and back of her meant the City Hall building, not County or another one. She seemed to recall that there was a cupola at the top of the smaller tower over there. And a nice, flat, railed space on the roof, just right for a walker...

Hokay. Heidi pushed her hat back on her head a bit, and low crawled, rifle across her forearms, across the rooftop to the little tower house thing at the front of the hotel roof on this side. Thank God for leather jeans, chaps, and doeskin shirts. Good for casual wear and tear. She took her hat off and set it to one side, and raised her head up very carefully, flat up to the side of the little building thing.

Just past her eyes over the top of the parapet. Enough to see out and down.

Damn, but she was good. Of course, there really _hadn't_ been many places he _could_ be... they, rather.

No real clear shot. He had his rifle braced, and was obviously craning about trying to catch a glimpse of her up to the middle of her building roof. Buddy-the-walker was doing likewise. Chumps. People _move_, idiot.

She popped up to one knee, snap shooting, and drove Walker Guy back and down onto the flat rooftop with a pair of forty-fours through the chest. Threw herself rolling back and sideways as shots cracked and spanged off the wall by where her head had been. She topped off the magazine, then raised the rifle barrel just enough to draw a shot, then rolled and low crawled, rifle across her forearms, across the rooftop to the little tower house thing at the _back_ of the hotel roof on this side.

So, let's see here. Is this boy twice stupid?

Why yes, he was...

She could see the rifle barrel and fore-end, the fingers of one hand around the fore-end, part of a receiver, and the forward edge of a hat. Would be just awful satisfying to ruin _his_ hat, but she'd sooner ruin his day, instead.

So many choices, so few bullets...

Heidi braced her elbow on the parapet wall, leaning forward, and took careful aim through the peep sight. Took care to allow for the downward angle. And fired twice, smooth and fast, shifting the muzzle slightly.

The first shot went through the fingers and the fore-end, probably doing a world of bad for the magazine tube. The second went _spang!_ off of the receiver.

The Winchester '94 over there went off, angling up, and he jerked back in surprise, stumbling backward and no doubt cursing a blue streak.

Her third and fourth shot went into his upper chest and neck, and he quit cursing. Or doing much of anything at all...

Ruin _my_ new hat, will you?

She put her hat back on and headed back across, to start back to join the guys. She allowed more of a running start, this time, and a bit more of a step off.

She got back down to the balcony by the simple method of reaching up to place a hand on the edge of the parapet wall, and giving a low vault to drop over and straight down. A shot went past as she was falling, but it was above her, and she didn't worry about it. A ways off though, as the sound didn't reach until after she'd landed.

She snagged her new Model '86 off of the doorjamb as she went by, and threw herself in and through the partly open French doors, a rifle in each hand, rolling across the bedroom floor. She came up onto her feet inside and past the bed, near to the room door.

"Sir. Ma'am," Heidi said, smiling cheerfully at the naked and gawping couple in the bed. "I'd stay away from the windows and the balcony for awhile. Seems they didn't appreciate my warning about their behavior."

The woman gaped at her, blinking, the blankets pulled up to her chin. Her mouth worked and then she said, "Yu-you'll j-just have to use sterner methods, next time, Deputy."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

* * *

At their chamber door there came a rapping, and Heidi slipped in. Not quite a raven, but she could croak 'Never More!' and do a good imitation, most likely.

Was a sure bet those guys up top probably thought she was a psychopomp by now. Heh. Psychopomp. And Giles had always despaired of Xander ever learning anything from research...

Xander raised an eyebrow at her second rifle, and said, "Out shopping dear?"

"Oh, yes," Heidi said. "And the clerks were just awful accommodating. But the crowds were _terrible_."

"I give up," Xander said. "You're completely fucking insane, you know that?"

Heidi nodded. "And you should see me when I'm not fucking."

Vin snickered. "You set yourself up for that one, Xan."

"I did, didn't I?"

Heidi took back the long '86 from Xander, and set her rifles down next to her as she settled in at her window. "Need to remind me to tell Haversham that all those nice rifles and handguns up on the roof, I'm claiming in the name of the Marshall's Office of Sunnydale. Not for hotel Lost and Found."

Xander stared at her. "In the name of the Marshall's Office of Sunnydale? You're getting to be enjoying this far too much. It's a bit scary."

"Unlawful use of firearms in the city limits." Heidi grinned at him. "Took a quick peek while I was up," she said. "I make it six on various roofs and windows or balconies. And one really rude fellow in that Church tower."

"I have him," Vince said.

"Reverend Doherty really should fumigate more often," Xander remarked. He frowned thoughtfully, and said, "I've been watching that guy over there in the Mission bell tower, and I'm real sure he's not Lazenby or McKay. And that worries me more and more."

Vince glanced over at the scope once again on Xander's long rifle, and his binoculars, and nodded. "And that means that McKay is probably doing something else, as he's not stupid. And Lazenby is set up somewhere not obvious."

"Something else I noticed up top," Heidi said. They looked at her and she continued, "A lot of smoke coming from out towards the Wilkins place. And a low glow on the horizon, now that the sun is dropping."

"Huh." And considering Wilkins' Mayoral Manor was back of town, that glow probably _wasn't_ sunset, as the ocean was _that_ way. "Interesting," Xander said.

They passed the rest of the wait commenting on the various targets they'd marked, and making up rude nicknames for the poor idiots.

By this point in his life, Xander could make wisecracks on autopilot. He devoted the majority of his real attentions to looking for and spotting various good, decent, and adequate vantage points that McKay, Sharp, and Lazenby could be set up in, since they weren't in the church tower or bell tower. And looking for and finding good vantage points along and overlooking their route to the Mission, later. _And_ keeping in mind that more than one person could play _both_ games...

There were a few skilled people on the other side, too.

He wondered a bit at his clinical detachment toward the whole thing, but only a bit.

He wasn't feeling mechanical, like before. Just... coldly detached. That was a good word. Kind of like the cool icy and remote anger he'd felt when Buffy had been on her 'me bitch queen slayer' kick upon her return from L.A., and he'd coldly told her that if Willow got hurt or killed because she couldn't play well with others, he was going to kill her.

And fully intending to surprise her by following through if Cordy had been hurt or killed, also.

First time in their acquaintance that he'd looked at Buffy and seen _not_ a beautiful girl he liked and was crushing on, or a friend. But a target.

Not the last, though. Buffy vanishing after sending Dead Boy to Hell in his own hand-basket was the only reason she wasn't pushing up daisies after Willow had been concussed, Kendra had died in front of him, Giles had been tortured for hours, and Cordelia had almost been killed. She came damned close to him doing something tragic and regrettable, regardless... but he'd decided that she'd paid enough for the moment.

They all had, by then.

Anyway, not mechanical. Just cold. These people were planning to kill him and his friends, and people he'd come to care about. That was just unacceptable. And they were about to get in the way of him finding Cordy and getting her back. That was a killing offense.

Took him eight freaking years to get her back this time, after they'd gone all blooey after the second grade. He wasn't gonna go another eight. Or never, which was just unthinkable.

Don't die, Cordy. I'll never forgive you. Worse – I'll come in after you.

And the sooner they got this done, the sooner they could get back to doing something worthwhile. Like living.

Finally... Xander glanced out at the horizon towards the Pacific, and checked his pocket watch. Flipped it closed and put it away.

"Let's get 'er done, then," Xander said. He raised the long Winchester 1885 and rested it comfortably, putting his cheek to the cheek piece and his eye to the telescopic sight.

Time for killing time was done. Killing time, now.

His fingertip caressed the set trigger, and the big rifle shoved back against his shoulder.

* * *

**.**


	31. Whatever Happened to Randolph Scott -

**Chapter Thirty:** **Whatever Happened to Randolph Scott, Riding the West Alone?**

* * *

"_That glowing red ball hanging over the horizon had better be the _setting_ sun, bucko.__"_ ― Walter Slovotsky

* * *

There were an awful lot of people coming up the street. And Rosario's cantina was on fire.

"Well, isn't that just interesting," Heidi said.

Xander thought it was, too, but he didn't get quite the jolt of apparent excitement from it that Heidi seemed to. Like Vince said: sometimes, he kinda worried about that girl...

Oh well. If you're going to have a killer blonde attack bitch, best that she's _your_ killer blonde attack bitch. Heidi Barrie should come with a label that says: 'This end toward bad guys.' Kinda like a claymore mine.

And now she has a badge and a just awful sweet rifle. My oh my. Lions and tigers and gunslingers, etc.

Xander did his best to swallow a grin where Heidi couldn't see it and get encouraged or anything. He was too busy watching the procession through the scope sight to want to have to deal with it.

"Riders coming from along Sundowner Way, too," Vince said.

"Oh? Fascinating," Xander said. "How many, pray tell?"

"Which first?" Vince said, a very slight smile playing around on his lips.

"By all means, pray," Xander said. "We can use all the divine intervention we can get."

"God is great, God is good, Jesus bless our morning wood," Heidi intoned, deadpan.

"Amen," Vince said. He pursed his lips, and cocked his head thoughtfully. "Oh, I make it at least a couple of dozen. Maybe more, depending on how many are eating dust there."

"Huh. All right," Xander said. He stood, slinging his long rifle and putting out a hand for his Winchester '86.

Heidi laid the fore-end in his palm, and grabbed her two and rolled onto her feet, as lithe as a cat. "So, whatcha see down there through that mighty fine telescope there, Xan?"

"Oh... bunch of angry townsfolk, looks like," Xander said. "With rifles, and a bunch of bad guys with ropes around 'em."

"Huh." Vince was already up, pocketing his empty brass. Xander glanced around the room, scowling slightly at the bullet holes in the walls. Things had gotten a bit too entertaining, once they'd started shooting back. Briefly.

_That_ hadn't lasted very long...

"Yeah. All they need is some farm implements and torches, and we be in a Hammer film. Let's us vamoose, as they say."

Downstairs, Mr. Haversham and Mr. Beauregard were nowhere in sight. Heidi left her message about the confiscated guns with the desk man, while Xander and Vince took a quick look in the restaurant and the bar. Heh. Complete absence of Maitland and Stillwell men. No Mayor Rattlesnake holding court, either.

"Ok. Let's split up. We can do more damage that way," Heidi said.

Xander opened his mouth, and then shut it again, wordlessly. No point. Besides, she looked completely serious. And ecstatic at the idea.

Instead, all he said was, "Let's."

* * *

Xander took the reins of Rasputin, his black appaloosa, from Chollo, and said, "Thanks." He slid the Model 86 into the forward scabbard, and the long Model '85 into the back one.

The drilling he kept slung across his back for the moment. Because just nothing says 'intimidation' like a double barreled twelve gauge, as the lady said. He glanced over at the other horses. Cordelia's palomino already had her '92 Winchester in the saddle scabbard. And their other two were trailing from Keanu by lead reins.

Good enough.

Maitland was sitting a horse next to Giles, his hands cuffed in front of him. Hopefully not wearing his not so little explosive fanny pack yet. Were his horse to stumble and fall, Xander just didn't want to see the mess that would make.

Hell, he didn't want to _be_ the mess that that would make.

"All right," Dude said. "So what's going on down there?"

"Bunch of angry townsfolk, the man says," Vince stated.

"Well, that's just great," Dude said. He shook his head, looking disgusted.

"Hey, at least it's not a bunch of armed Maitland and Stillwell guys," Xander said. He just thought he should point that out.

"Rather it was," John T. said, his voice dry, "We can shoot _them_."

"Ah. Good point."

Across the street from them, Heidi dropped and hit the roof of the other building's second floor balcony, rolled down it and off the edge, dropping onto her feet in the street below. Knees bent and ankles flexed to take the shock, landing like a cat.

She ran across the street to join them, taking the reins of her star faced black from Kevin with a smile. "So," she glanced over, and said, "Did Deputy Xan tell y'all about the riders headed in?"

"Well, no, Missy," John T. drawled, shaking his head. "He surely did not."

"Hadn't quite gotten to that part yet, Heigh-ho," Xander said. "But, gee, thanks for putting me on the hot seat."

"Anytime, Boss," she said, flashing him a quick smile.

"So, Dude, John T.. Seems there's a whole bunch of riders headed in down Sundowner Way, out of them thar foothills," Xander said. He shot Heidi a sour look. Rolled off of her like water from a duck, naturally. "And there seems to be a fire out at the Mayor's Estate."

"Why, thank you, Deputy Harris," Dude said. "We do appreciate being apprised of that."

"Got any idea if they're friendly riders or not?" Glenn said, balancing his '73 against his hip, barrel slanting up.

"Nope."

"Why yes," Heidi remarked, casually. She'd fixed a loop in one set of saddle ties for the barrel and magazine tube, and was now slinging the receiver of her new '86 in place with another pair, hung from a saddle hook by the saddle ring. "They are. I recognized a few of the horses."

She tapped the cased binoculars hanging by a strap from around her neck, and went back to sliding her other rifle into the horse's saddle scabbard.

"Ok, now where did you get those, Didi? 'Cause I know you didn't have 'em earlier," Xander said.

"Guy up top of the Double Eagle there didn't need 'em anymore." Heidi said. "He was coming out to check on his buddy. Was just awful surprised to see me, briefly."

Dude and Chance blinked. Gee, Xander was glad he wasn't the only tough, dangerous guy here who found Heidi a wee bit disconcerting sometimes... Maitland swallowed, and carefully edged his horse as far away from her as the lead rope would allow.

"So. Gonna fill us in there, young lady?" Kevin drawled. "Or keep us in suspense?"

"All you had to do was _ask__._ Jeeze," Heidi said. She swung up into the saddle, and settled her gunbelt around her hips. "Bunch of Lazy-H riders. Recognized Rory's big palomino stud, Golden Boy. And Linc's tall steeldust. Oh, and a bunch of Star-C riders. Same: recognized Chase's big white Lippenheimer or whateverthehell it is."

Chance and Dude stared at her, and then turned in their saddles slightly to look at Xander And Glenn.

_Both_ of whom had their best and most studiously innocent expressions on. Xander had the distinct feeling they weren't buying it, for some reason, though. Just a hunch.

They were saved commentary by virtue of the Double Eagle blowing up, down the street. Hell of a bang, too. Like someone tossed a bundle of dynamite in through the bat wings, fuze lit and all.

Dude closed his mouth with a snap, blinking. Odds and ends of smoking debris hit the ground nearly all the way up here. A hunk of wood, slightly ornate, like one of the roof ornaments, hit the street nearby, and Chollo's paint shied. He reined it in, murmuring softly to calm it.

"Well, that's just new and different," he said.

"Urban renewal, gotta love it," Xander said.

Heidi made a chk-chking sound in her cheek and reined her black around in a tight circle, and back again, twisting and turning in her seat.

"Well, I'm ready," she said. "Let's go kill some more bad guys."

"Well, I'd kind of like to see what's going on _here_ first, if you don't mind, Deputy Barrie," Dude said.

"Well, sure. I'm easy," Heidi said.

"Heard that about you," Vince murmured. She threw him a grin, and he grinned back.

Xander winked at her and unslung the drilling, laying it across his saddle bow. Dude shot him a look that plainly said, 'that conversation is _not_ over,' and turned to face the approaching crowd...

Heh. Himself, Heidi, Vin, Dude, John T., Glenn, Kevin, Chollo, Aaron, and Giles. Ten against the mob. Or maybe, Guns across the Blanco. Sounded like a Louis L'Amour novel.

"Marshall," Gunn stepped forward as the crowd milled to a halt in front of them. Oz and Isabelle next to him. Along with a few other town notables. Oz had a nice nickle-plated and ebony stocked Model '94 with a winter loop laid across the crook of his left arm.

"Mr. Gunn, Mr. Beauregard, Mr. Osbourne, Mr. Haversham," Dude said, nodding. "So, what's all this?"

Their answer was forestalled slightly by Elena walking her horse out from the crowd, wearing a pair of buckskin chaps over red jeans, a black, patterned serape, her gunbelt and an off white hat. She reined in next to John T. and turned her horse alongside him. Veronique rode out also, dressed similarly, and carrying a fancy looking Marlin and wearing Brett's gunbelt.

"And just what do you think you're doing, Elena?" Chance said, glaring.

"Out for an evening ride," she said, smiling at him. "Thought I'd see if a certain man I know would like to accompany me."

"Well, normally, I'd love to, but we happen to be a bit _busy_ right now, if'n you haven't noticed," Chance said, his voice arid.

"That's all right, John. I do believe we're going the same direction."

Veronique pulled her horse up – Brett's tall bay – alongside Haversham, who managed to look both nervous and palely resolute at the same time. He swallowed and said, "Why, Marshall, we had heard that you and your Deputies might be in need of a bit of assistance."

"Precisely," Beauregard said. "And we thought that it was high time that the citizens of this town began to take a hand in the affairs thereof. And _long_ overdue if you ask me, which of course, you did not."

Dude shook his head, holding up his hands, palms out. "Look, people. I really _appreciate_ what you're doing here. And _trying_ to do. But you can't – or shouldn't – take the law into your own hands – "

Xander glanced sidelong at him and said from the side of his mouth, "_You're_ a fine one to talk." It got _him_ a sidelong glare from Dude.

"And _you,_ Veronique," Dude said, ignoring Xander, "Should be with Brett. Not carrying Brett's rifle and pistols and looking to end up alongside him."

Veronique shrugged prettily, smiling at him. "Either the Goddess is with Brett, or she is not. My being there won't influence her either way. I'd say my place is here with these other people."

Dude glared at her. "And what if you end up as he is, or dead like Melody Kendall?"

"Then Brett will have to understand, Marshall," she told him. "And we'll see each other again on the other side of Summer."

Gunn stepped forward, a long, chrome receiver '76 held across the crook of one arm. With his woman, Isabelle beside him, holding an older long tom shotgun.

"Marshall, believe me," Gunn said, "We all appreciate what you're saying. And doing." He paused "And believe me – we're _not_ trying to take over your job."

Isabelle said, nodding, "Gotta see it our way. For a long time, we didn't _have_ any _law_ here, and then none except for Sheriff _Munroe_. You can ask Xander there how well that worked. And then we got you, and you did your best – did real good – everyone could see that."

Gunn smiled. "Hell, you did so good that Wilkins and his cronies _hated_ you, and Chollo. The rot just set in too deep by then. Wasn't 'til these two came back and you sent for John T. and he got here, and Vin, that things started changing... "

Beauregard nodded. "Yes sir. And they started changing right smartly, too."

Chance shook his head and said, gruffly, the faded blue eyes looking infinitely weary, "Lot of guns out there, Bo. Maitland, Stillwell, Munroe's... 'bout fifty or so, all told. Maybe more."

"Plus the first string," Dude said.

Oz shrugged. "Few less, here in town, now."

Xander did a brief face count. Oz, Gunn and his woman and adopted daughter, Mr. Jay Lee Fong and what looked to be his older son, Beauregard, Haversham, and, hell, Phil Wingersoll of Wingersoll's Emporium and Pharmacy. And Wingersoll's Cabinet of Curiousities. Xander couldn't count the hours that his counterpart here and Jesse's had spent in that place as kids. Ditto for the one in _his_ Sunnydale. And the younger blonde kid that had inherited Wilson's Gun's and Hardware, that kind of reminded him of DiCaprio from Quick and the Dead, only not as snotty.

Hopefully at least as fast, though.

All of them armed, too, one way or another. Plus a whole lot of other people. Including Mr. Railroad Man Statler and the mean looking fat Pinkerton Agent, too.

Xander couldn't help but grin when he saw Darlene in jeans carrying an '89 Marlin almost as long as she was tall, with a pale faced Aurora and Aphrodite next to her carrying Winchesters. He did his best to hide it, as Vin wasn't looking amused.

Apparently, his best wasn't very good, because Vin shot him a sour look before pursing his lips and turning the sourness on Darlene.

"Good place to end up like that Melody gal, Darlene," Vince drawled.

Darlene whitened, especially around the straight line of her lips, but managed to glare back at him. "Occurs to _me_, Mr. Gunfighter, that it's not just _men_ getting killed in this town. Nor just men with a stake in it."

Vince looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Keep your head low," he said.

It occurred to Xander that if Mayor Wilkins and his cronies came to a bad end, and they managed to keep the Hellmouth from being activated, this _might_ just turn out to be a nice little town at some point. He wondered if the citizens and people in _his_ Sunnydale would ever wake up to the reality of what their town had become and decide to do something about it, like these people had.

"You're not going to face those guns alone, Marshall," Haversham said, swallowing again. "Not just with five deputies, a cowhand, a gambler, Miss Elena, a school teacher, and an accountant. And whatever Miss Barrie is."

Heidi smiled at him. "Last I checked, I'm a girl." (beat) "With a pair of really _sweet_ Winchesters."

"Besides, sir," Stein pushed his way to the front, with a pump Winchester '97 slung over his shoulder, and four deputies beside him, "They are not taking the law upon themselves. We are." He was trailing a rope strung through the handcuffs attached to the wrists of about a dozen or more sullen looking prisoners.

Maitland and Stillwell hands, it looked like.

"No one is taking the law into their own hands here, Dude," the big, older deputy Sheriff said. He resembled a slightly overweight and older Brian Dennehey, now that Xander looked at him real close. Heh. Shades of Silverado, all over again. 'Cepting that this one might be a good guy...

"Well, except where we kind of are, sir," Stein said, "Considering that we no longer have any official authority, nor control of the Sheriff's Office and County Jail. However, this is _not_ a lynch mob. We are attempting to do things at least _somewhat_ lawfully." Stein had apparently recovered and was still wearing his badge, as were the three deputies with him.

"Nice shiny pair of rifles there," Chollo remarked, looking at Gunn's and Oz's Winchesters.

Oz shrugged. "We don't do much gun-fighting. They serve to put meat on the table."

"Mine suits me," Chollo said, nodding.

Five horsemen detached from the herd of riders pulling up at the back of the crowd, and eased their way up along the edges of the street. Dude watched them come with an increasingly sour expression.

"Well hello, John T.. Fancy meeting you and the Dude here," Rory Harris said. "You coming along to help out my nephew?"

"Well, I reckon so," Chance said. "Except that we were under the impression that it was the other way around."

Cordy would just love this, Xander thought, examining the newcomers. William Randolph Chase the First was almost a dead ringer for her dad. Bit more weathered looking, maybe, and that tan came from sun and outdoor work, not beaches and tanning booths, but still...

There was a slightly shorter than medium height, baby faced man with clear, hard blue eyes sitting a nice looking leopard spotted appaloosa next to Chase. Bay spots... The memory of Xander's counterpart here, or else Info Dump Guy, supplied a vague memory. Chad Cooper, Chase's ramrod. And that face and build was instantly recognizable to _this_ Xander...

Xander looked over at his uncle, wearing a bemused expression. "Thought you didn't like Mr. Chase, Uncle Rory?"

"Hell, boy," Rory said, "I _still_ think he's a pompous, arrogant, supercilious grasping ass of a dandy. But I can't fault his choice of fights to pick."

Chase smiled tolerantly at him. "And I still think your uncle here is an ignorant, uncouth heathen savage. But he has excellent taste in both enemies and nephews. And he does breed good quality horseflesh."

"Why thank you, Mister Dandy," Rory drawled.

"You are quite welcome, Mister Heathen Barbarian."

Rory shot him a reproachful look. "Now see here. You said _savage_, not barbarian. You take that back. Or at least define it."

"I'm so sorry. I forgot which book I was reading from."

"Har har," Dude said, sourly. "Now, if you two clowns don't mind, would you mind just telling me what the hell you're doing here?"

Rory exchanged puzzled looks with Chase. "Why, we're going about taking this town back from Wilkins, Stillwell, and Maitland. Thought that was obvious."

Chase frowned at him. "With your kind assistance, Marshall. If that is all right with you."

Dude sighed. "This isn't your fight, and I didn't ask for the help."

"I did," Xander said, shrugging. "Once Wilkins grabbed Cordy, this became a family matter."

Glenn nodded. "And Kev and I did, also," he said.

"My ranch manager and his friend are in it," Chase stated. "_Makes_ it my fight. Objections?"

Rory nodded. "As is my nephew's af-ee-an-cee." Rory Harris and Chase in agreement on something. End of the world must be nigh, Xander thought.

Oz leaned his rifle against his shoulder and pursed his lips, looking puzzled. "Besides, Marshall. It's our town, and it's time we're taking it back. And, we pay your salary, last I checked." Gunn, Isabelle, Jay Lee, and Beauregard nodded.

"'Sides, I have twelve hands who're better than decent with a handgun, rifle, or scattergun," Rory drawled. "Chase here has another fifteen. And last I checked, Dude, I'm better than fair, and faster and better than that old fat buzzard next to you. You really gonna turn us down?"

Chance glared at him. "No. He is not." (beat) "And you call me a fat buzzard again, Harris, and we're gonna go round and round, Hoss."

"Hell, I was talking about Chollo, there," Rory said, looking amused and not the least impressed, "But if'n you want to _claim_ it..."

"And we may not be professional gunfighters, Marshall," Gunn said, "But we are armed, and we plan to help also."

"It'll at least cut those odds a bit, Dude," Isabelle said.

"Speaking of," Mr. Chase cut across them, looking at Xander, and said, "I understand that you are keeping company with my wayward and estranged grandniece, son. How is that coming, and how are you treating her?"

"Well," Xander said, "I like to think I'm treating her all right, sir. And as for the other, she and _I_ are a bit estranged at the moment. But I'm going about doing something on that here, and you'll let me be about it."

Chase's ramrod nodded. "Why we're here. Marshall Dude stops wasting time objecting, we kind of thought we'd help."

Heh. John Wayne, Dean Martin, Kevin Kline, Scott Glenn, Dennehey, Powers Boothe, Randolph Scott, Bronson, and now Murphy. Scratch that – not Guns Along the Blanco. Maybe the Texican. Or more like the Kalifornikan, considering they didn't have enough Texans here to fill a ten gallon Stetson.

Xander very carefully kept his face blank and his thoughts to himself. He _really_ didn't think Dude would appreciate his sense of humor right about now...

Something must've showed, though, or else he just got the disgusted glare on general principles, because Dude _did_ give him one. He turned in his saddle and called up to the Jail's second story. "Jules! You and Bishop and Finney get out here and take charge over this bunch of prisoners."

"And I hope you people didn't burn down _everything_ out at Wilkins place," Dude said to the crowd. "We're going to need any evidence that's there." And then he spat in the street and growled, "Let's move. We're wasting perfectly good twilight."

"Yup." Xander nodded. "Vin, Heidi, you heard the man. Let's go shoot some more bad guys. I have a girl to rescue and a Mayor to assassinate."

Vince nodded, and looked at Dude. "Give us a bit, and we'll set up and do overwatch for you."

"Yeah. I don't think Mayor McRattlesnake will mind cooling his heels a bit if we're late to the party," Xander said, "'Cause he really _can't_ hold it without us."

* * *

Sheridan came down the corridor in a bit of a hurry and stalked into the room their cell was off of, McKay right behind her.

"Sir," she said, drawing Wilkins attention and Cordelia and Ianara to the door from sheer curiosity. "Someone just picked Taeger out of the bell tower with a rifle shot. More heavy rifle shots from town, as well, and a number of smaller ones."

Wilkins glanced up at her from where he was putting finishing touches on his diagram. Circle. Seal. Whatever. Anyway, glanced up with his expression full of annoyance. Trick looked over at them sharply as well.

"Mr. Lazenby?" Wilkins said.

"Set up somewhere else, sir," Sheridan said. "He stated that he wasn't a fool, and he wasn't going to perch on a roost in a pigeon shoot like one."

"Sigh. It is just so hard to find reliable help these days," Wilkins said, standing up.

"At least a four hundred yard shot," McKay said. "And a heavy rifle."

"Xander... " Cordelia breathed. Or Vin. One of the two, it had to be.

Apparently she hadn't been quiet enough, because Wilkins glanced over at her, irritation on his face. Trick smirked at her from next to him, having heard as well. Vampire hearing, duh.

"Your young fellow is beginning to be an annoyance, young lady," Wilkins said.

"A shame, that," Cordelia said.

"It is indeed," Trick remarked. "For you."

"I believe that he, or they rather, are clearing the field in advance of the meeting and exchange, sir," Sheridan said. "Trying to eliminate unpleasant surprises. The same rifle also removed Esterbrook and Destry from the windmill."

McKay nodded. "And _that's_ almost five hundred and fifty yards from the best vantage point."

"Hmm. You seem to be running low on long range marksmen, Mr. Mayor," Cordelia observed, smirking slightly. Ianara jabbed her in the side, shaking her head frantically.

Cordelia really didn't blame her. She herself kind of wondered where all this insane courage was coming from, all of a sudden. Or maybe it was just a complete and total lack of give a damn, that had come over her.

Wilkins shook his head, looking back to Sheridan, and said, "All right. Take your marksman's rifle and replace, what was his name? Taeger up in the bell tower."

Sheridan blinked. "No. Sir." Wilkins stared at her, his smile slipping briefly, and she shrugged. "I'm also not a fool, and I don't particularly feel like being Harris' next target. Man is just a little bit _too_ accurate with that long Winchester '85 for my tastes."

Wilkins looked at her real hard for a moment, and then turned his gaze on McKay, an eyebrow going up.

"I'm not a fool, myself," Dewell said. "And last I checked, Maitland pays me, not you."

"_Maitland_ is working with Mayor Wilkins," Trick said, "You might consider that."

"I might," McKay said. "I might also consider that Wilkins is your boss, and you're just a lackey. Or is that a minion? I've never been sure what the difference is."

"Lackey pays better than minion," Cordelia said. "But henchman pays better than both, and has higher status. And better perquisites."

Trick turned a baleful glare on her, and Ianara gripped Cordelia's upper arm tightly.

"Ah. Thank you for clearing that up," McKay said, a faint smile on his lips. Trick turned back to him, those long fingers toying with the butt of his pistol. McKay's smile broadened slightly, and he said, casually, "Feel free."

He never tensed nor altered from the casually relaxed stance, long Winchester laid back against his shoulder. Trick stared for several long moments, and then visibly relaxed, smiling.

"Well, then," Wilkins said, looking back to Sheridan. "You'll have to find a pair of someones who aren't afraid to take up those positions, won't you?" He sighed, adding, "Or is _that_ beyond your capabilities?"

Sheridan's eyes narrowed slightly, but her voice stayed mild and respectful. "No, sir, it is not. On it, sir."

* * *

**.**


	32. Guns Along the Rio Blanco

**Chapter Thirty-one: Guns Along the Rio Blanco -  
**

* * *

"_If a malignant being demands a sacrificial victim have a particular quality, I will check to make sure said victim has this quality immediately before the sacrifice and not rely on earlier results. (_Especially_ if the quality is virginity and the victim is the hero's girlfriend.)__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

That looked about right. Xander gave a low, soft, whistle, like the call of a frogmouth, and when Vince looked over, he jerked his head towards the four story adobe building they were headed toward. And pointed at himself and Heidi.

Vince nodded. He touched his eyes, and his rifle, and pointed to another similar building over leftward and ahead, some fifty meters off of the planned route.

They'd already planned to rendezvous at the rear of the Mission. No need to discuss that one.

They split there. Xander and Heidi tied their horses in an empty shed about a half a block behind the building he wanted, and pulled both of his Winchesters from the saddle scabbards. Slid the drilling into one, and handed the '86 to Heidi.

He and Heidi found a narrow outside staircase along one side, away from line of sight of the Mission, and eased up it to the roof. Once there, they went prone and low crawled across to the parapet wall, looking out at the Mission some hundred and fifty or so yards away.

Piece of cake. Practically point blank range for both rifles. They could clear the back wall around the rear gate and that poor idiot they'd stuck in as a replacement in the bell tower without half trying. Once the time came.

Xander leaned over and put his lips near Heidi's ear. "Spot for me, since you have those new binoculars," he whispered. "I'm going to clean out the tower and the windmill again, and then you can clear the back gate once the party starts good and proper." She nodded, setting aside the rifle and uncasing the binoculars.

"Huh." He leaned over to Heidi again, and whispered, "And I think I've spotted Mr. Sharp. Nice perch." He indicated what he'd spotted, and after a minute, she nodded.

Finding a good spot, Xander adjusted the ladder sight and rested the fore-end of the long rifle in his left palm. Just as soon as the party's horses came into earshot at that last bend, and Poor Idiot there eased up to shoot...

Sooner or later, they just had to run out of idiots.

* * *

Dude looked out over the front of the Mission, noting features of the gate house, and various vantage points. About seventy-five plus yards from the last of the building fronts and houses on this side, across the front grounds to the gates. He nodded, and turned to the others.

"All right," he said, "John T.? How about you take Chollo and Miss Elena, and head over to that side," Dude pointed to the left hand side of the open grounds, about midway down. "And I'll take the cowpuncher and the gambler here and set up opposite you."

"All right, Dude," Chance said, his eyes narrowed. "Sounds good to me."

Dude turned to Stein and his deputies, and said, "You're back here with Mr. Giles and Aaron, then. Come in with the citizen brigade after the gate blows. We'll try and keep you clear a bit since we'll probably get there first."

Stein and Cobb nodded. "I would at least like to have us make an attempt at arresting Wilkins, if it is at all possible," Stein said.

"I don't believe it will be, Mr. Stein," Elena said, shaking her head. "I strongly suspect that Alejandro has other desires, and I for one wouldn't wish to stand between them."

"Yeah, that'd probably be a real unpleasant place to stand," Chance drawled.

"Kind of fatal, too," Dude said, smiling tightly.

Stein sighed. "I believe so as well. Very well. So be it," he said. "We'll make every effort to penetrate to where Miss – err, _Deputy_ Chase – is supposedly being kept, and see what we find there, then."

"Good enough," Dude said. "All right... " He looked at Aaron. "You going to be able to clear that wall and what's left of that gate house when the time comes?"

"Sir." Aaron Levinson was white lipped where his mouth was pressed in a thin, straight line, but his hands were steady on the big Farquharson, and the eyes were clear behind the glasses. "Yes, sir. I do believe so."

"All right, son," Dude drawled. "Deputy Barrie believes that you'll do, she said. Don't let her down."

"All the same to you, sir, I believe that it's Ianara I'll try to not let down."

"Good enough." Dude smiled. He turned to a pale and strained looking Maitland, and looked him over. "Well, hell. I guess it's pointless to say good luck to you, but... "

"I understand," Maitland said. "Thanks anyway, Marshall."

"All right." Dude checked his pocket watch, then put it away. "Let's hope that Rory and Chase get their charges set without blowing themselves up. We should be hearing Vin and Harris clearing the rear wall and the tower pretty soon."

He looked around, and nodded again, satisfied. "Places. Fixing to be showtime." He turned his horse toward the left row of houses and buildings, Kevin and Glenn following.

The deep crack of a .40-82 began to punctuate Dude's statement, broken once and then again by the flat, rolling boom of a heavier rifle and the crash of a fifty caliber...

* * *

Heidi sighed, shaking her head. "Just no challenge anymore, Boss," she said.

"I know. It's like they're not even trying, huh?" They exchanged grins, and Xander was struck once more by the changes that had come over him in just... what? Less than two _weeks_? Yeesh. Heidi handed him back his '86, and pointed at the edge on the other side of the roof, then tapped him and pointed to the stairs, raising an eyebrow.

Xander nodded. Sounded like a plan, even without sound. He began to ease his way back to the stairway.

He still hadn't spotted Lazenby, and that bothered him more and more as the time passed. Like an itch he just couldn't scratch.

From off aways, he heard the sound of Vince's mare's leg firing five times in fairly rapid succession, punctuated in the middle by a single pistol shot.

* * *

As he came down from the top of his building, reaching the ground, there came the sound of a pistol cocking somewhere close by and to the rear. Vince froze.

Deke Matthews' voice came from behind him. "Turn around _real_ slow and kneel and lay the rifle down. Easy."

He didn't sound or look happy.

Vince squatted slowly and carefully and complied. He pulled his hand carefully away from the rifle... "All right. Done," he said.

"No one takes my pistol and walks away from me. But _nobody_." Matthews had a bandage with a large blood splotch wrapped around his left hand, and a livid bruise still along one side of his face.

Vince shrugged. "Not exactly true."

"I'm interested in seeing how fast you are with that oddball rig from the holster, not the hand," Matthews said. He uncocked and holstered his revolver.

"No need for this," Vince said, easily. "You're curious, I could just tell you: not that fast."

Matthews grinned. "Now, stand up real– "

Vince came up from the crouch _fast_, drawing the mare's leg and firing as he rose. He worked the lever and fired again, and then once more.

Matthews voice came out as he staggered slightly, trying to lift his pistol and failing. "That's... " he said, staggering and firing into ground. "That's... just – "

Vince fired again, and Matthews dropped to his knees. "That's just _not_ – " he managed to choke out, and Vince fired once more, and Matthews fell face down.

Vince stood erect, reaching to his belt loops for cartridges. "Actually, I'm thinking it kinda is," he said.

* * *

"Got it?" Rory asked as Linc came back from the wall.

He got a nod in return, and a low, "Assuming it works, it should go off not long after the main gates."

"Well, we'll just have to assume it works, won't we?" Rory eased a round into the chamber of his Winchester, the rifle grand prize from the shoot of two years back. "I'm thinking that since you're not shot, they didn't see you."

There was a flash of white teeth as the flat faced, darker man grinned. "Not so as one might notice. They all seemed to be looking every which way but down."

"Fancy that," Rand drawled. "It always seems like long range rifle fire from above seems to have that effect on people, for some reason."

"Fancy that."

* * *

Xander paused, coming down the adobe stairs from his shooting perch. Something just _felt_ off... _something_.

A voice came from off to one side as Wilson Slade and James Blaylock stepped out from the shadows by some hovels. Well, now, that might be it, he supposed.

There's just no time when something bad can't get worse. Especially not on the Hellmouth.

"Since you're coming down, I'm thinking Lazenby's done for," Slade said in an amused sounding drawl. The eyes were anything but amused, however.

Xander shrugged easily and stepped the rest of the way down the stairs and to the ground. They'd either shoot, or they wouldn't.

They didn't.

He nodded to Blaylock, getting a nod back. Xander hadn't met the man before, only seen him at the shoot. Now he looked him over curiously... Kind of like a thirty-ish Claude Akins, he decided, wearing a straight up Hollywood style rig, with a long barreled, nickle-plated Colt.

"And Nick Sharp," Xander said, looking back to Slade. Lying through his teeth about Lazenby, of course, but, hell, _they_ didn't know better. And they never would... "I don't like long range rifles over me when I'm busy."

Slade nodded. "Don't blame you. And it's time for us to have our little talk." He paused and said, "You want to switch that fancy '86 rifle to your off hand, we can finish what you started back in the saloon."

"The Eagle?" Xander complied, switching the rifle to his left hand. "Thought that _was_ finished."

Slade uncocked and holstered his pistol. "Not hardly. Let's see what you do face to face."

Xander shrugged. "Could ask O'Toole. Oh, wait – you can't." He smiled, and said, "Besides. I thought you were a _doctor_, not a gunfighter."

Slade frowned. "Huh?" He reached for his revolver butt as Xander's hand blurred to his holster –

– Xander fired, cocked the Grover as it came down from recoil, fired again. Slade staggered, dropped his pistol, fell. And fell away and down. Nothing but recoil.

"This ain't Tombstone, and you're not Doc Holliday," Xander said, looking down at the body. "_And_ you're between me and Cordelia. _Really_ a bad place to be right now."

Blaylock coughed, holding his cocked revolver aimed at Xander, who glanced up and looked at him curiously. "Nice," Blaylock said. "But you should have shot me, too, while you were at it."

The sharp crack of a .44-40 came from behind him, slightly down street and off to the side, followed by another. Blaylock turned, blood starting to bubble up from between his lips, attempting to raise his suddenly drooping pistol. There came another shot, and he staggered back and fell.

Xander shrugged. "Didn't need to." He began to reload and holster his pistol.

Heidi shook her head. "Idiot. Talk when it's time to talk, shoot when you should be shooting."

Xander looked over at her, amused. "Me? Or him?"

Heidi smiled back, and said, "Both. But mostly him." She glanced down at the '92 Winchester in her hands. "Sweet rifle. Wonder if Kevin will let me keep it?"

"You'll have to ask him." Xander shrugged, looked down at bodies, and then off toward the Mission... "C'mon. Let's go down and get dangerous, shall we?"

"Heh. Thought we already had?"

"Oh, no. We can get a _lot_ more dangerous than this. Trust me."

* * *

Sheridan looked up and toward the back, and then to the windmill, and sighed heavily. "Well, it appears Chase was right. We _are_ running awful low on long range rifles."

"Rifles we have," McKay said, smiling tightly. "Long range _shooters_, now, we're running low on."

Sheridan gave him a sourly amused look. "I stand corrected," she drawled. "That Harris kid, you figure?"

McKay nodded. "I expect we just lost Nick Sharp."

"Oh? How you figure?"

"Because I heard three shots from that long forty," McKay said. "And not a one from Sharp's, err, Sharps."

"He might be watching and biding his time," Sheridan said, sounding and looking dubious.

Dewell McKay laughed mirthlessly. "He bides any more time, and Marshall Dude can just walk in with his hands empty. There won't be anyone left to shoot at him."

"'Cept for us," Sheridan said.

"Well, yeah, 'cause you're not stupid, and I don't work for Wilkins," McKay said. "But at that point, shooting at Dude and John T. would be a loser's game. And _I'm_ not stupid either."

Sheridan shook her head, smiling humorlessly at him while checking her watch. She nodded once and said, "All right. Time, just about." She put the pocket watch away. "Let's go get the boss and the girl and get this show on the road, shall we?"

"Might as well," McKay said, smiling back with a lot more humor than she'd shown. "We can _always_ stand to put few more targets in front of Harris and Garrett."

"You sound like you are enjoying that idea far, far too much, McKay."

"Nah. Not really," Dewell said, still smiling faintly. "It just occurs to me that it might just have been a bit easier all around to send Chase back to Harris with a bow tied to her and an apologetic note. And a _lot_ less wasteful of manpower."

* * *

There was the sound of a key in the lock to their cell door, and the little peep window swung open from the outside. Trick's voice called in, "Time to go, ladies." There was a slight pause, and he laughed, then added, "Well, lady. Only one of you is going. But the Boss wants both of you outside."

Cordelia got up from the bunk, stretching, and held a hand out to help Ianara up. "May as well. Come on."

The other girl gave her a frightened nod and took her hand.

Removing the bar, Trick gave them a sweeping bow and a smirk. "Ladies."

Chin high, back straight, and holding Ianara's hand, Cordelia walked out past him without bothering to glance Trick's way. Or to react to him.

Ianara didn't quite manage that. She shot Trick frightened, sidelong looks all the way out and past, and then back over her shoulder. Which, honestly, Cordelia couldn't blame her for...

My my. Wilkins had finished his art project. All except for one spot along an inner edge...

It vaguely resembled something she remembered from one of Giles' musty books. Painted, not chalked. A lesser key of Sigmund or something like? Something Biblical... oh – Solomon, that was it. An elaborate circle-seal design, with a six point star circle like two overlapping triangles inside that was large enough for a person to lie supine.

One about Cordelia's height, as a matter of fact. She swallowed hard, trying to hide the fact.

And another inner circle, with a five pointer. This one could seat a single person sitting cross legged. In arm's reach of the other...

There was something about that second circle. What was it? Oh yeah – point down on the pentacle equals a bad witch. Well, _duh_. She didn't figure that Wilkins was a _white_ practitioner, like Willow kept saying she wanted to be.

There were nine black candles around the outside of the main circle, and five around each of the inner ones. All of them unlit.

Wilkins didn't look like a black sorcerer or evil wizard at the moment. He looked like a cheerful, bland, affable man in an expensive and well tailored, albeit archaic, suit.

Of course, he didn't _look _like he was stark raving insane, either, but Cordelia had already _seen_ evidence that he wasn't shopping on a full debit card. Overdrawn at the sanity bank, more like.

The only concession to evil wizardhood he made at the moment – if you ignored the honking huge sacrificial circle – was an elegantly wicked looking broad bladed dagger thrust through his belt. Oh, and my, that was interesting: he was actually _wearing_ a gun for the first time. A small Colt Sheriff's Model in a crossdraw holster on his left front.

Trick caught her by the wrists and yanked her hands behind her back. Cordelia gasped, both at the cold touch, and the fact that she hadn't heard him coming up behind her. Well, duh again. Vampire. And vampire quiet.

Easy to be a sneak when you don't breathe.

She kept her face carefully blank and her chin up while Trick bound her hands behind her back. Never show fear. Not even if you _are_ terrified.

Concentrate on how you are going to kill Wilkins and Sheridan. And on just how enjoyable it was going to be to see that look of astonishment that vampires always seem to get when a mere _human_ dusts them, on Trick's smirking face. And that sweet hissing scream as the demon went back to Hell...

_Don't_ think about the knife in your boot, or the one in your sleeve. _Don't_ think about McKay and the possibilities there.

Speaking of...

Cordelia glanced around. My oh my. What a _large_ number of armed and brave men to escort one five foot eight – well, five seven and a half – inch girl upstairs.

Wilkins and Stillwell and Maitland. Cold eyed Mr. Trask. Weak eyed Alan Finch. Smirking Dillon Marsh. Long haired Courtland. Deputy Dawgs One through Three. And three Nameless Gunslingers, one of whom had a really fancy tooled and silver inlaid rig, with a pair of nicely engraved and chromed stag handled Colts in the holsters. What daddy would have called a drug store cowboy outfit. And Trick.

No McKay or Sheridan, just yet. Not at all? Hmm.

And hmm again. Deputy Dawgs One through Three and Nameless Thugs all looked really nervous for some reason. And from the way they kept looking up toward the outside and muttering between themselves, it wasn't the evil sacrificial diagram making them edgy.

She wondered if Vin and Xander were still picking off riflemen...

"Well, now. Isn't this going to be fun?" Wilkins said, cheerfully. Cordelia wanted to strangle him... cheer _that, __schmuck_. "All rested and ready for your little trip upstairs?"

"Oh, well, no. Not really. I feel _such_ a fright. And I only have _this_ old thing to wear."

"Not to worry. You look just fine for your reunion," Wilkins said. "And, assuming that things go the way _I_ plan on, your date down here won't care about your ensemble."

"Oh?" Cordelia raised an eyebrow. _Never_ show fear. Never show _fear_. _Never_ show fear...

"Oh yes," Wilkins smile showed all of his teeth. "Belfagorius truly loves nubile young things such as yourself, I understand. And I believe that he's _extremely_ well equipped to do so," he said, "Although those old woodcuts _have_ been known to be inaccurate."

"And here I was distinctly remembering you chastising _Trick_ for being lascivious," Cordelia said. _Never_ show fear. Never show _fear_. _Never_ show fear...

Wilkins shrugged. "Well, it's one thing to engage in uncalled for lewd behavior. And quite another to note in conversation the traits of one of our more... otherworldly patrons."

Cordelia smirked, deliberately. "A pity that I'm the wrong gender, speaking of lewd behavior. I could have taken _ample_ opportunity of the chance to absolutely _ruin_ Ianara for your purposes while we were locked up." She eyed Wilkins casually and clinically as though seeking out the best spot to plant the knife, then gave him the full measure of Cordelia Chase beauty queen smile. "Oh, wait – maybe I _did!_ It doesn't actually _require_ that one be _male_... " Ianara gasped next to her.

Wilkins' cheerful grin froze on his face, and he blinked at her. Score! Trick gave a nasty chuckle, that actually sounded appreciative.

Wilkins' smile unfroze, and he chuckled. "Oh, my. Good one! You actually had me going for a moment there. But – I believe that _that_ would be a mere technicality, for these purposes."

And zing! Time to twist it, now that it's planted. Cordelia's smile broadened a bit more, and she tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "Did I tell you my daddy studied law? He always used to stress that there's no such thing as a _mere_ technicality. He always told me it was like a _slight_ miscalculation in demolitions."

Wilkins smile froze again, and the eyes went glacier cold. Rattlesnake cold... _Never_ show fear. Never show _fear_. _Never show fear_...

"_Such_ a lascivious young lady yourself. Or is lady the proper term, then? I truly do believe that Belfagorius will enjoy you, my dear. He so loves full figured young things... and you may well enjoy _yourself_ too, once you reach his realm." Wilkins smile unfroze again and his eyes danced merrily. "At least until his spawn emerge."

Check, and mate. Ouch.

Didn't help that all the men were watching their little exchange with a kind of cold, clinical amusement. Well, except for Deputy Dawgs and the Gunsel Triplets. And Finch. They were looking at Wilkins with almost as much nervousness as they were spending on whatever was going on upstairs.

And _Finch_ just looked pale and sweaty.

And more than slightly aroused. Eww. And _ick_.

Sheridan and McKay came down the corridor and into the room. Sheridan didn't even spare a glance for the elaborate circle, or the dagger.

"Time," Sheridan said. "C'mon Chase, you have a meeting to go to."

_Never_ show fear. Never show _fear_. _Never_ show _fear_...

* * *

**.**


	33. Oh, Where Have all the Good Men Gone

**Chapter Thirty-two: Oh, Where ****H****ave all the Good Men Gone, and Where are all the Gods?**

* * *

"_If an __adviser__ says to me __'__My liege, he is but one man. What can one man _possibly_ do?__'__, I will reply __'__This__.__'__ and kill the __adviser.__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

"Hold it," Trask said, as they were about to head toward the Mission front doors. Maitland and several of the others looked at him with irritation. "No. I _know_ John T. Chance, and Dude Morgan. They've got something tricky up their sleeves."

Wait. Dude's last name was _Morgan_? Why was she only finding this out from a _bad guy_? Did that mean he had a _first_ name for crying out loud?

Sheridan nodded, her eyes narrowing. "Yeah. Up those stairs, and out on the front balcony. We can see from there, and call out... but there's shelter and it's not as direct a shot for any marksmen."

Trick's eyes narrowed, and then he nodded. "Not bad, Trask. Let's do it."

McKay took her by the arm, and they headed to the stairs. Up and out. Right at the foot of the stairs, Sheridan stopped and held up a hand.

"Huh. Ok... we're gonna be careful, let's be real careful," she said. "You – " she pointed at Marsh, and said, "Go get the horses ready, and bring 'em to the rear entrance of that back building near the stables. Rectory, whatever – the one near where the other stairs come up." She smiled, and added, "Just in case. There's almost a straight shot to the back gates from there."

Marsh scowled. "I don't take orders from you."

Trick snorted, and shook his head. "You do now. _Do it_."

Marsh glared at both of them, and turned on his heel and stalked off. He grabbed one of the deputies, Deputy Dawg Three, and took him with. Hey – two away. Numbers getting better.

Upstairs and out on the balcony. Trask, Stillwell, Gunsel Two, and that other guy, Cortland or whatever, peeled off downstairs and went to one of the other doors. Hedges went to another direction. Downstairs and off to one side. Groovy, as Xander's hero, Ash, would say. Four more away. The numbers _kept_ getting better. Arthur Finch came up with them, for all the good he was doing anyone.

Let's split up, we can do more damage that way. Hey, always worked in horror movies. _Not_.

Up on the balcony, looking out, and carefully back just enough to not be easily seen. Gee, it was dark out there. And, gee – in a world without huge glaring cities, and light pollution, freaking starlight and a sliver of a moon was enough to see by, pretty well. Wow. Whoda thunk it?

Maitland cupped a hand to his mouth, and yelled out into the semi-dark.

"John T. Chance! Dude! You out there?"

A voice came back from off a slight distance, outside the walls. And not from directly in front of the gates...

"I hear you," John T.'s deep, raspy voice came back in a shout. Wow. And with no noise pollution, voices carry a long way as well.

Maitland called out again, "Start my boy walking. Let's get this done."

"Soon as you start the girl." Dude's voice, this time, coming from a different side of the gates.

"Dude? That you? Doesn't work that way," Maitland shouted. "We get Blake, _then_ she walks out."

Cordelia felt McKay's hand tighten on her upper arm, her first real solid indication that he thought things weren't all of the good. Well, duh. Just _now_ cluing in, Dewell? _Men_.

There was a long pause, and relative silence. Presumably while Dude and Chance were discussing with whoever was with them, respectively.

"Where's the girl?" John T. again.

"She's safe," Stillwell yelled out, from down below. "And ready to walk, you do your part."

"That you, Stillwell?"

"It is."

"Good. Gets all our snakes in one basket," John T. called back.

"Got a problem with me, John T.?"

"Maitland I don't care about. This goes well, he can go back home, raise cows, whatever. You? I got no use for, since the Rio Concho."

Jeeze. Was every place named _Rio_ something or other with these people?

"Ah. That's so, what do you intend?"

"I intend to see you hanged. Or dead. Don't much care which."

There was a rather nasty laugh from Stillwell that she wasn't sure carried to John T.. Stillwell called out again, "You know? Been an awful lot of shooting out here, prior to now."

"We just don't like rifles above us," Chance yelled. "Stop putting them up there, and Harris will stop taking them down." Harris? _Yes!_

"Leave be, Stillwell," Dude's voice cut across, from his side again. "Maitland? How do I know Miss Chase is there, and with you? And alive, for that matter?"

Maitland jerked his head toward the front of the balcony, and Sheridan gave her a push to the shoulder. "Call out," Maitland said.

"Fuck. You." Cordelia said.

Maitland didn't blink, just turned to Sheridan and said, "Make her."

Sheridan did something to her left hand and fingers, something that hurt like a white hot lance, and Cordelia screamed, wishing she could cuddle the hand to herself and whimper.

"That don't _sound_ all right to me, Maitland," Dude yelled out and up.

"She's just fine. Just a bit of encouragement."

Sheridan leaned in, whispering. "Yell out. Or I do it again."

Cordelia glared sideways at her, and then her chin went up. "I'm here, Dude!" she called. "And I'm fine, more or less!" Jeeze. Xander heard that, and a lot of people were so _very_ dead. Hell, _she_ got her hands on a gun, and a _lot_ of people were _dead_, dead. Starting with Maitland and this... _bitch_.

"Good." There was a pause, and then Dude's voice came again. "We seem to be at a standoff, Victor. Deal was, they both start walking, and we exchange."

"That was never stated, Dude," Maitland yelled back. "Deal is, Blake walks in, _then_ she walks. And we're done with you, for all of me."

"Where's the other one? Gutierrez?"

"She was and is not part of the deal, Dude. Talk to Wilkins."

There was a long pause, presumably while various parties and Dude discussed things. Sheridan pulled Cordelia back into the shadows of the balcony alcove, and she felt McKay's hand on her other arm again. Oddly comforting. And she still hadn't been able to figure him out...

* * *

"Damn. They're planning to get tricky," Chollo said, his voice low.

"Oh, really? No. Whatever gives you _that_ idea?" Chance shot back, his voice equally low. There was a brief, white flash of teeth as Chollo grinned at him. Damned kids.

"I really don't like this, John T.," Elena said, quietly. She gripped his upper arm – his left one. Not the gun arm, she knew better.

Damn, but he liked that in a woman. Liked it in _this_ woman.

"Me neither," he said back. "But it's the only game in town right now."

He didn't have to be able to hear Dude's discussion, or talk it over with him to know what Dude Morgan's decision would be. They'd ridden enough rivers, walked enough streets together, and fought enough fights together to know each other like an old married couple.

Only one real decision he _could_ make. They were going in whether Chase came out or not.

It was all graven in stone, by now.

Sure enough. Dude's voice came back, calling out and sounding strained to the breaking point. "All right. He's walking. And she'd _better_ come out."

* * *

After what seemed like a long while, Dude's voice came back, finally.

"All right. He's walking. She _better_ come out."

"She will," Maitland yelled back. "I got no use for her."

"She doesn't," Dude yelled back, "And Stillwell's not the only one hanged or dead. Just you remember that."

Another voice came, this one from in front of the Mission, and across from the gates. "Here he comes. He's starting now." Oh my gods, _Giles_? They got _Giles_ in on this? _How_... ?

And another voice, Blake Maitland's. "I'm coming in, Father. Coming for you!"

And, gee, why did _that_ sound somehow ominous?

* * *

Reginald Giles made a slight adjustment, and gave young Maitland what he hoped was a reassuring grip to the shoulder. Not that you _could_ reassure someone who _knew_ they were about to die in a single incandescent flash of white... And Maitland did. He threw Giles a hideous rictus of a grin and nodded.

"It's armed. You have enough time to walk to and into the gates, and inside a short way," Giles said. Maitland nodded again, and took a deep, ragged breath. Brave lad.

But they were all brave lads, sooner or later. And it didn't matter. They all died just as horribly as the cowards.

Giles hesitated, and then leaned in again. "Should you have the opportunity once you are inside, there is a bare chance that you may be able to reach the latch and remove the device in time to throw it at the gate and dive for the ground, or some cover before it goes off. Walk a bit more quickly than normal, but not so much it looks odd. Do not do so _before_ that – for I _shall_ fire upon you, I assure you."

"All right," the Blake Maitland nodded. Then the younger man's voice rang out, sounding a lot more confident than he could possibly feel, "I'm coming in, Father. Coming for you!" He started walking toward the Mission.

Not _quite_ the way that Giles would have wished for him to phrase that, actually. Reginald threw a sharp nod to Aaron, lying prone a short ways away on his vantage point. Aaron nodded back, took a deep breath and lifted the Farquharson .500/450 to his shoulder and took aim. Giles readied his .577/500 double.

Good thing that rotter up there had thought to use the balcony. It would shield Miss Chase from the blast. Or most of it...

* * *

One minute, Blake Maitland was approaching through the gates, and some of Munroe's deputies and Maitland and Stillwell's men were moving up to yank him inside. And two more of Stillwell's – or maybe Maitland's, who knew? – men were pushing the heavy Mission gates closed behind him. Next –

– Next minute, the whole freaking _world_ blew the hell up.

It would have been a perfect moment. Stillwell and that Courtland guy, the one who kinda looked like a long haired Lance Hendrickson, were hit by the blast wave somewhere down there and shoved into a building. Probably. Or blown up. Men all around were blown off their feet or into things, screaming almost silently, falling from the front wall...

It would have been a perfect moment. Maitland, Munroe, Deputy Dawgs One and Two, Sheridan, even Trick were stunned, and they were farther back with Cordelia, and partially sheltered in the balcony doorway alcove. Trask and the other guy were nowhere in sight.

It would have been a perfect moment. Yank out the boot knife, put a shoulder to one of the stunned guards, and run like hell until she could use the damned knife to cut her hands loose. Or just shove and run, go for the knife later. Get a gun, off a dead body if need be – there were plenty around – and stay alive and go find Goof Boy. Or Dude. Or Vin. Or John T. Then go back and get Ianara... It –

– It _would_ have been the perfect moment, except that she and Dewell McKay were _both_ shoved back by the fringes of the shock wave and stunned all to hell _too_.

Good God _damn_, Xander. She'd _told_ Wilkins and Trick that he'd destroy anything and everything in his way to get to her, but he didn't have to take it _literally_. Yeesh. Damned good thing Trask's and Sheridan's paranoia had put them _here_, up above that hellish blast. What the _hell_ did they _use_ for that? Nukes?

Ears ringing, a trickle of blood running from one nostril, and dust and a thin film of red all over everything. Including them. Both of the Mission gates were hanging crazily from their hinges, and one of them blown almost completely down. An entire _section_ of wall and gatehouse collapsed on that side. And more dust, and rubble, and little bits of moist stuff still raining down.

Oh, gods. Little bits of Blake _Maitland_ raining down. Ewwww.

Cordelia bent at the waist abruptly, and threw the hell up.

Hands grabbed her arms and wrenched her back upright, roughly. Luckily, _after_ she'd emptied her stomach, or she'd have been _wearing_ dinner. As _well_ as wearing Maitland burger.

Victor Maitland was yelling over the ringing. She could barely make it out, but it sounded like he was yelling for them to get her and all get back below. He had that fancy, engraved single action out and in his hand, like you could _shoot_ at the world blowing up. Yeah. Right.

Sheridan and McKay hauled her inside, and back toward the arched doorway leading to the stairs down, the Deputy Dawgs and Trick trailing behind, and Maitland and the rest clustered around them.

Her ears were clearing a bit, the ringing getting to be less a deafening thing and more an annoyance like shooting without ear protectors. She could now distinctly hear shots from behind them, a fusillade of them. Sounded like the Mexican Army storming the Alamo, and the defenders shooting back. The Mexican Army was winning, sounded like.

Of course, they had in real life, too.

Her _brain_ was clearing too, more to the point. _Not_ the Mexican Army. Was a _rescue_, dammit. And an all out assault. Dude, and John T. – she remembered the dynamite now, from Rio Bravo. A good thing Wilkins hadn't seen that movie. Or Maitland. Not that they _could_have, mind you...

And of course, they'd damned near blown up the rescuee too. If Trask and Sheridan hadn't been paranoid...

They made it downstairs, picking up another Deputy and an added gunsel along the way, and down again, and through the hallways and corridors. Ended up in the big room where their cell was, and the freaking Hellmouth. Come full circle.

Why did she _always_ seem to end up coming back to that freaking mouth of Hell?

Wilkins was there with that ugly, elegant wide bladed dagger through his belt, holding a terrified looking Ianara by the upper arms. Sheridan, Trick, Munroe, Finch, and Maitland went over to stand beside them, leaving McKay holding her by her left arm. The new pair split off to one side and at the back, while Deputy Dawgs One and Two, and Gunsel One, and Three withdrew off a bit to one side on the far end of the room, and began a low voiced and intense looking discussion between themselves.

Nine. Ten counting Wilkins. _No_ – add in the new ones, Chase. _Twelve_ counting Wilkins – Finch is a non-entity. _Eleven_ again, depending on McKay. _So_ not of the good. Because Wilkins?

Wilkins looked _pissed_. No trace of the genial smile or the affably evil bad guy here. There was something not quite human, and more than just a little bit crazed in those flat reptilian eyes.

He smiled, a horrible parody of his normally cheerful grin, and _looked_ at her.

And the _world_ blew up _again_. Toward the side of the Mission compound, this time. They could actually _hear_ it all the way down here, and _feel_ the ground shake and rumble with it. _Damn_.

Someone had gotten awful happy with the party favors. She could just _feel_ Soldier Boy in this, somewhere. Dust drifted down from the ceiling...

"My word. Seems our friends are violating the guidelines we agreed upon." Wilkins said. He looked at Cordelia, still with that hideous parody of a grin. "A pity. I guess your young man will just have to find me and blow my head off." He glanced at McKay, and said, "Step back and away from her, please."

McKay looked at Maitland, and got a terse nod. Maitland didn't look happy, either. Well, _duh_, of _course_. He was still wearing a thin red film of his dead son...

McKay let go of her arm, and took several long steps back and away. And, good. If she was right about him. If not...

Wilkins gave Ianara a hard shove, practically throwing her at Cordelia. Ianara stumbled into her, flailing, and they both went over backwards and down, Ianara on top. And, well and good. It gave her a chance.

Her fingers shoved down into her boot top and found the stag grips of her boot knife...

Ianara rolled off of her and managed to get herself onto one knee as Wilkins strode forward. "That is, of course," Wilkins said, "if your Xander Harris is a man of his word or not."

Cordelia scrambled back and away and looked as frightened as she felt. "He is. And he _will_ you know. You'd _better_ leave me _alone!_" She managed to get up to one knee.

From behind Wilkins, Trick sighed theatrically. "Damned shame. Guess I'll have to eat her, then."

Wilkins smiles as he stepped toward Cordelia, reaching for the nasty looking dagger at his belt, "You may certainly have what's left, assuming Belfagorius leaves anything," he said, looking at the now obviously terrified looking Cordelia. "Now, now. This will only hurt briefly. Don't bother getting up. I can drag or carry you into the circle." He closed on her.

Cordelia wailed, her eyes wide.

She stood anyway, scrambling to her feet and upright, her chin coming up and her eyes narrowing. Cordelia brought the boot knife from behind her back, fast, revealing her now unbound hands. Too late to worry about it – either McKay was _hers_, or he wasn't. And she was dead anyway... Sheridan was too damned fast and too damned good. Cordelia sliced deeply across Wilkins' face from the left temple at the hairline to opposite jaw, across his eye, nose, and lips.

"_Suck_ on it, Snake-eyes." Wilkins screamed and staggered back away from her, his hands going to his face and the dagger falling to the floor all a-clatter. What was it that Wontolla said, in the Jungle Book, that her daddy read to her when she was little? _Second_ Jungle Book. _Red Dog_.

Something about dying with your teeth in the heart and throat of the enemy. Sounded like a _damned_ fine plan, right about now. Cordelia grinned like a she-wolf and went in low, the knife coming up and across to _gut_ Mayor McRattlesnake. Vicious and fast. _L__ahini_...

Wilkins screamed again, like a little freaking _girl_, his hands going up as he _threw_ himself backwards and away from her.

There was a sharp report, followed quickly by another and one more. Fast and smooth. Dewell McKay's '73 Winchester – she remembered the distinctive sound from that long heavy barrel from the big Shoot. Sharper and flatter than Xander's '86 or Vin's Big fifty. From the corner of her eye, Cordelia saw as McKay brought that long '73 arcing down from back against his shoulder to nail the gunman who was about to shoot her, shot him through the chest and head, and the ones next to him also: Deputy Dawg One, and Two right behind him, then shifted aim to clip a recoiling Wilkins across his cheekbone and right ear.

Smooth and fast, neat and thorough.

There were other shots, of course, but none of them seemed to matter right now. Cordelia shifted her aim in mid lunge and dropped the knife, going in on the long slide remembered bone deep from long ago Little League, sliding into home. She grabbed the first pistol she saw, Gunman One's fancy engraved Colt, he of the really fancy rig, and one from a dead Deputy Dawg, and came up and around onto one knee.

Gunsel Three caught the first forty-five caliber slug through the stomach as he was trying to draw a bead on McKay, and the second in the head as she thumb cocked the hammer coming down out of recoil. Fell back and away, but she wasn't paying attention any more. New Deputy at the back caught the next pair from the other pistol... She came fully erect and turned, dropping the Deputy's gun to get _both_ hands on the fancy pistol's grip. The way that _Daddy_ taught her, way back when in a different world...

Wilkins was still screaming as he continued to duck back hastily, behind Trick, and then he ran for the doorway. Cordelia snapped a shot in his direction, missed, and ignored him after that.

Trick was vamping out and drawing his fancy pearl handled revolver and firing. There came a wet thump that she vaguely registered and McKay staggered, a bit. "Well, damn," Trick said, "I _said_ she was spunky." Ignored _him_, too.

McKay fired again, _still_ firing, and once more, almost simultaneous with a white faced Sheriff Munroe's return shots. Munroe came nowhere _near_ anyone, bullets screaming off of stone. McKay's shot hit Trick in the chest, and then in the forehead and the vampire fell backward, the revolver falling from his hand.

Sheridan was firing also, with that short carbine, a blossom of blood high on her neck and another low on the abdomen. Another wet thump came as she laid it on McKay. _There_. No more _ignoring_.

"Hey!" Cordelia's eyes narrowed. "Get _away_ from him, you _bitch__!_" Damn, but this movie quote game was _fun_. She'd have to tell Xander...

Caught leaning, that was the term. When you were off base and suddenly tried to go back and _couldn't_ because all your weight and momentum was one way only. She remembered it from Little League, and Sheridan _was_.

The first round hit Sheridan just off center in the chest as she reoriented and started to come around, and so did the second. The third was high, and it caught her on the ridge of the brow just above the right eye and punched through. She died and fell away with a wide eyed shocked look that was infinitely _satisfying_. Nothing but recoil. _L__ahini __–_

– Lahini. A _she_-wolf of the Pack. The she-wolves were _always_ deadlier and more vicious than the males...

Ghost memories of the hellish fight in the Territories danced behind her eyes, and Cordelia shook them away. Later for that...

_Maybe_ the reaction would hit later. Oh well. She had a Xander to put _her_ back together when she fell all apart.

Munroe was screaming, frothing and practically incoherent. "What the _hell_ are you _doing_, McKay?"

Expressionless, Mckay shot him through the forehead, and brought the rifle across to aim dead in the center of Maitland's face. "Tendering my resignation," he drawled.

Maitland froze with his single action only half raised. Slow on the draw there, Queeksdraw. "Kind of a final way of doing that, isn't it, son?"

"Got my point across," McKay said. "Decided that this wasn't what I hired on for."

Maitland shook his head, smiling slightly. "Since when did hired guns get choosy? You're paid to do – "

McKay gasped and winced, but his rifle didn't waver. "I get paid to risk my neck and shoot people," he said. "I'll decide where, and when I'll do it and what or who I'll do it to. This isn't it."

Maitland smiled, and said, "You know? I have an impression you just don't want to go up against Xander Harris if his girl gets killed."

McKay smiled back, thinly. "Might be a right impression."

Cordelia bent and snagged Fancy Rig's other stag handled Colt, sticking the empty or nearly empty one through her belt. She picked up Sheridan's short carbine, lowering the lever slightly and opening the breech a bit to check the chamber, and snapped it shut. Full chamber. Alan – no, _Arthur__ – _Finch was cowering against a wall by the door, looking sheet white. Good place for him.

"You," Cordelia said. "_Sit_." Arthur slid down the wall like his bones had been yanked out, sitting with his hands clasped around his knees. "_Good_ boy. Sit stay."

She glanced over at Trick, lying sprawled back on the floor, twitching; with his gun a couple of feet away from his hand. She didn't know as much about vampires as maybe she should, but she remembered Spike supposedly being crippled after that organ broke his back. Maybe nerve damage was harder to heal? Whatever, he seemed to be out of it for the moment. But, best to watch him, though...

"I'm going to holster this and walk away," Maitland said. He glanced at the twitching Trick also. "You going to shoot me?"

"Not as long as you toss it _here_ and then stand real still," McKay said, smiling slightly. "You can walk once we three get clear, and then get you _another_ gun, for all I care."

"Fair enough," Maitland said, tossing the uncocked revolver over to land halfway between him and Dewell.

Ianara scrambled over quickly and snatched Maitland's gun, and then Trick's and scrambled back over by McKay.

Cordelia nodded approvingly. "Good girl," she said. She looked at Maitland and smiled. Her best Pepsodent ad smile, and she jerked her chin at Wilkins dagger. "You can _always_ have _that_. Cut your throat with it. Please."

"Cold, girl. Real cold," Maitland said.

"That... grinning monster was going to kill me, and sacrifice _her_," Cordelia said, her eyes narrowed. "And _you_ were going to stand by and _let_ him. _Fuck_ you."

Ianara looked over at her and said, "I take it you are not waiting for Mister Xander to rescue you?" She looked awful comfortable next to McKay. Guess that _real_ monsters even made scary guys not so scary.

Cordelia snorted laughter. "Oh, _hell_ no," she said. "I've always been a rescue myself kind of girl. When I can, anyway." She looked at the twitching Trick, frowning. "Too bad we don't have a good way to kill him for keeps right now, before he recovers."

McKay frowned. "What's it take?" he asked.

"Oh, wooden stake, decapitation, sunlight, fire – "

Ianara's eyes widened and she said, "_Fire_?" She ran suddenly over to the wall and grabbed a lantern, and threw it at Trick so it smashed and splattered burning kerosene across and over him.

Cordelia felt like she probably looked – _completely_ nonplussed. "Well, we _could_ do _that_." She shook her head, clearing it. "Let's go. Give Ianara your rifle, McKay – I _know_ how well you can shoot a pistol." There was a sudden rush of flame and the weird screaming hiss of an escaping demon as Trick burst into dust, followed by rattling pops as the cartridges in his belt loops started to cook off like popcorn...

McKay was still watching Maitland over the sights. "I may need it to lean on," he said. He gasped and winced again.

Cordelia felt her eyes widen. "_Crap_. You're _shot_?" The moist thumping sounds registered on her, finally. "Crap. _Twice_?"

"More than that, I think." A wolf's smile flickered across McKay's lips. "I lost count."

"Crap." She sighed. "Ianara: help me with this stuff, and then get under his off shoulder and be his crutch. We are _lea_ving." She strode over to get Sheridan's Winchester '95 from the wall where it was leaning, as Ianara looked to her for instructions. "C'mon, McKay. Hold it together and _don't_ die on me. I'm _so_ not leaving you behind."

"I'll try and not," he said, his voice dry.

Working quickly, while McKay covered Maitland, she and Ianara gathered guns and gunbelts. Cordelia took Sheridan's double pistol rig with the two Smith & Wessons – they looked to be about the same size in the hips, and she found that if she tightened it one more belt hole, it fit perfectly. The rifle scabbard and harness went on her and the shorty Winchester slid into the scabbard.

Stripping harness and gunbelt from Sheridan's corpse bothered her not a whit. Cordelia wondered briefly whatever happened to the shallow, fashion obsessed girl she once was, who would probably be having the screaming meemies dealing with corpses and bloody shit smelling bodies... and, no, she never was that, really. Guns had never bothered her and she'd been shooting since she was a kid, even _before_ here and the skills infusion and Info Dump Girl. Too many bodies in Sunnydale to _count_, after Buffy came... Only monsters really made her freak and go all ingénue.

She took the too too fancy silver and tooled gunbelt from Gunman One and looped it over her shoulder, across body, stag handled pistols reloaded and back in place. Not really practical, but _damn_ it was pretty. Xander would like it as a present, maybe... or she could keep it for fancy wear. A Sunday go to meeting gunbelt.

Ianara got the other gunbelts, as well as Maitland's pistol, and Trick's. Damn, but she looked like a Bandido girl from some horse opera... just needed a big sombrero and a huge black handlebar mustachio. Cordelia swallowed a grin, and took Munroe's handcuff's from Sheriff Fat Bob and went over to Arthur Finch, Deputy Interim Mayor. Mayor now, probably. Briefly.

"Up. And turn around," Cordelia said. Artie gaped at her, and then scrambled to his feet when she scowled. "Hey! Guess what – _I'm_ still a Deputy _Marshall_. And you are _so_ under arrest." She cuffed the hands of the newly promoted Interim Mayor behind him, and gave him a shove towards McKay. "And guess what again? _You're_ leading the freaking way."

"But- but I- I wasn't... " Arthur started off, stammering.

"_Shut_ it, Mister Twitchy Boy." Arthur shut it so fast his teeth clicked together. She must absolutely _terrify_ him. Good.

Cordelia slid her boot knife back in place as she went back to McKay. He gave her an amused look. "All done shopping?"

"Oh no," Cordelia said, smiling brightly. "A woman is _never_ done shopping, McKay. But I think we have all the _good_ bargains from this place."

McKay grinned back, and asked for Ianara to take two of the Deputy's pistols and stick them through his gunbelt. For in case. She hustled to do that thing. Probably glad to lose some weight...

"Dewell."

Cordelia raised an eyebrow, looking at him.

"It's Dewell, ma'am," McKay said. "Ladies I do wrong by who decide not to help me go ahead and bleed out, get to be on a first name basis with me." He smiled lopsidedly. _So_ much like Xander it tore at her heart. She bit her lower lip, nodding.

"And it's Cor-dee-lee-a. Not May-um or Miss Chase. Got that?" Frowning slightly, she added, "And I think our slate's clean now."

"No, I'm thinking I may owe _you_ now," he said. She took his Winchester as Ianara slid under his off shoulder, and started reloading it with cartridges from his belt loops. Handed it back when she was done.

"We'll sort out debts later. Assuming we survive," Cordelia said. She sneered in the direction that Wilkins ran off in. "I am so _too_ a good actress. Damn."

McKay looked at Maitland, still standing there with a bemused little smile and a hard look to his eyes. "Once we're gone," McKay told him, "You can do whatever, go wherever you want. Just so long as it's not the same way we take."

Maitland nodded. He didn't say a word, though. Just looked at them.

And then the world blew up _again_, from the _rear_, jeeze. Xander? Dude? What in the hell are you idiots _doing_ out there?

Cordelia hefted the long Winchester '95, and checked her belt of cartridges for it. "Let's go find my idiot boyfriend, shall we? Before he blows up the _rest_ of the damned Mission here with us in it."

* * *

.


	34. Evil in the Air, and Thunder in the Sky

**Chapter Thirty-three: Evil in the Air, and Thunder in the Sky...**

* * *

"_Who knows, with any luck, they'll kill each other. Then everyone's a winner. Everyone, of course, meaning me.__"_ ― Mayor Richard Wilkins the Third

* * *

Maitland's explosive device went off with a massive thumping crash. From where they were, they really couldn't see what happened to Blake Maitland, but it wasn't really hard to guess. A cloud of dust billowed out through the Mission gates. One gate hung crazily from one hinge, swinging outward before it stopped. The other partly hung from a hinge – the other part was doing a lazy three quarter turn through the air before crashing to the ground outside, teetering wildly, and then dropping flat with a crash.

And half of the gateway arch and about fifteen to twenty feet of the wall to that side turned to rubble and collapsed, the gatehouse tower on that side sliding inward and then toppling into the Mission courtyard. The other gatehouse tower leaned crazily outward like that Italian tower in Rome. The arch between it and the other collapsed half arch –

– Was just _gone_.

Little pieces of it were raining down everywhere.

"Well, damn," Kevin said, sounding awed. Dude would have echoed the sentiment, but he was speechless at the moment.

Damned good thing that Cordelia had been up on the balcony, in the balcony doorway arch, or... Dude shook his head. Just didn't want to think about that one.

A body tumbled lazily through the air and hit the ground about halfway between the ruined gates and where they sat their horses.

"My God," Glenn said, boggling. "_What_ did he say he _put_ in that thing?"

"Oh, just some nitro compound of his own devising," Kevin said. "A bit more stable than nitroglycerin."

"Right." Glenn swallowed. Hard. "Remind me not to ever get any school teachers mad at me."

"What exactly does he _teach_, anyway?"

"Hope it's not chemistry."

"Come on," Dude growled. He kicked his horse into motion, a Winchester in each hand. Glenn and Kevin did likewise and followed him across and in through the ruined gates.

To the other side of the field, they could see Chance heading in the same direction, Elena and Chollo right behind him.

* * *

"Well, day-um," Rory drawled, blinking. "That done went off with a hell of a bang."

"Sure as hell did," Chase said, sitting a horse next to him. Coop was to Chase's other side away from Rory, and Rand and Linc were to his right. The rest of the group of riders were spread out in a V behind them. Waiting.

"How long did you set that thing for?" Rory asked, looking over to Linc.

Linc shrugged, pursed his lips, and said, "About five minutes after that one, supposedly."

"Hell, it'll all be over by the time we get in."

"Somehow," Chase said, "I kind of doubt that."

* * *

"Well, I am surely impressed," Cobb said, as they watched bits and pieces of the gatehouse arch rain down. Along with the odd bits and pieces of bodies.

Aaron's Farquharson crashed nearby, and away across the Mission front grounds, a rifle tumbled out of one of the corner towers of the front wall.

"Hmm." Giles slung his rifle for a moment and removed his glasses to wipe them. "I must've erred a bit in my composition. That blast should have been considerably larger."

Everyone stared at him. People on the remainder of the Mission front wall who couldn't have possibly even _heard_ the comment, stared at him.

"Ahem." Stein blinked, and then shook his head, obviously visibly deciding to let it go. "Well, shall we?" he said.

"Quite. Let's." Giles replaced his glasses and unslung the double rifle. "I – and Aaron of course – shall need to accompany you down to Wilkins' lair and Cordelia's prison. I need to examine the ritual he was preparing, if it was, indeed, set up already."

"Of course," Stein said, nodding. "Do please stay behind me and my deputies so that you won't be– "

Giles threw the double rifle to his shoulder, fired the right barrel, tracked over and fired the left. A hundred or so yards away, two bodies slumped and slid from the front wall. "Yes?" he asked, breaking open the action and extracting the empties to reload.

"Oh, never mind," Stein said.

"Sir?" One of the deputies looked askance at Giles and asked, "What exactly is it that you teach, anyway?"

"Ah. English and Ancient History."

* * *

The compound was laid out kind of like an H, he recalled.

Two long, narrower adobe buildings formed the uprights of the H. The monks cells were in those, as well as a chapel, the rectory to one side, various storage areas and workshops, and an assortment of other chambers and rooms that went toward making up a working Mission and monastery. Whatever that actually required.

John T. Chance wasn't certain. He'd never been all that religious. Believed in God, of course. More or less. He wasn't always sure that God believed in John T. Chance. And he'd never spent all that much time in Missions.

Outside of fighting in three or four of them over the years.

Five, now.

The main Mission building formed the wide center crossbar of the H then, as it stood. Three and a half stories, and built kind of like a layer cake that had been sliced in half, and set down tall side facing the gate house. Main floor held the great hall, main communal dining area, kitchens, and the main chapel. Second floor held chambers for the priests, classrooms for the Mission school, and the upper half of the great room and high chapel. The half story layer was storage areas, and workshops, and the upper floor was a conservatory slash observatory. With the five story bell tower rising above that. Tallest thing in Sunnydale short of the Sunnydale Arms and the big windmill down at the Grainery.

And the whole thing was arranged around a rectangular inner courtyard with a well, a fountain and gardens.

According to Father Montoya, Father Jon, and Brother David, it went down three stories as well. A basement with root cellar, storm cellar, more monk cells, and a large wine cellar. And two sub-basements, the lowest of which used to be the main wine cellar, cisterns, and cold storage. And still was the latter.

According to Mr. Giles, the explosively inclined school teacher, it went down a lot farther than that.

All the way to Hell, as a matter of fact.

Or it would do that thing, if Wilkins had his way with things.

Not gonna happen.

John T. had a sudden regret for coming down on Xander Harris over the boy's harsh words to the Priests and Brothers. These people actually built a place of God over a gateway to Hell?

Good Lord and the saints add preservatives to us, as his Irish great uncle used to say.

What in the _hell_ were they thinking? _Were_ they thinking?

Hell. The first Jesuits in the area, coming in with the conquistadors, had named this place La Boca del Infiernus. Or Infierno – the _Mouth_ of Hell. The Chumash had known it was a Bad Place long, long before that. And people and animals – a whole cattle drive, once, and an entire cavalry troop, once – had been disappearing here for decades, going all the way back to the original Spanish settlements.

He'd heard rumors about the place going all the way back to the Civil War, when he'd still been just a taller and bigger than average snot nosed brat in a uniform pretending to be a Colonel.

Perched on her tall horse next to him, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Elena crossing herself and murmuring unheard words under her breath, a rosary in one hand. Prayers, no doubt. Hell of a woman – she had that Smith & Wesson rifle propped against her hip in the other hand.

Definitely a hell of a woman. He should do something about that, one day. He'd never met the likes of her, not in fifty-four years. And hell, maybe he would. Be about time.

She caught his sidelong gaze, and smiled at him, brilliant and white, and put the rosary away. Damned hell of a smile – he could see where the Chase gal got hers.

To his other side, Chollo wasn't praying. Just sitting his Gypsy paint with that nickel-plated Winchester in his right hand, checking his left hand Colt with the other. Then again, he didn't think Chollo had a religious bone in his body. Didn't have a nerve in his body, neither. Good man in a pinch.

And the whole. Damn. World. Blew. Up. Or sounded and looked like it, anyway. John T. made a mental note to never, _ever_ pick a fight with a school teacher. Nor an accountant.

Dude fired a shot in the air, one handing that twenty-inch Winchester to cock it. Didn't need the signal, they were already moving, just a hair behind the Dude, Glenn, and Kevin.

They flashed through what used to be a gate and gatehouse ahead of John T. and his group, and were lost in swirls of dust and smoke.

A gunman staggered out of the rubble ahead, covered in dust and blood and looking like an apparition. And holding a Winchester rifle...

John T. just rode him down and went through him.

His bay, dry mare, blanket appaloosa was a "stock appaloosa" with some Thoroughbred in her, not the little cowpony, Nez Perce type. She just _looked_ little with six-six and nineteen stone of John T. sitting her.

Close to thirteen hundred pounds and sixteen-three of spotted bay horse hit the man and he spun away like a rag doll, the Winchester flying out and away.

And Chance and his little group rode straight out into a dusty hell of screaming and bloody men, dust, and still falling debris.

Through a break in the dust, he caught a glimpse of a white faced Cordelia Chase being pulled back by a grim looking Dewell McKay, and a shocked looking Sheridan, Wilkins' negress attack bitch.

He snapped off a shot at Sheridan, the round spanging off the adobe next to her head, and twirl cocked the .32-40. And then a cloud of dust ate them up and they were gone.

Dammit.

He grinned, mirthlessly to himself. Maybe that Heidi gal would find 'em. He'd put Barrie up against Sheridan any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Be one hell of a fight.

No sign of Dude and the cowpoke and gambler. No matter. He had a real good idea of where Stillwell's voice had come from, and aimed the horse that way. Maybe should go straight in after Chase and them, but hell. Hard lessons learned at Appomattox, Gettysburg, Antietam, and Cold Harbour, and a thousand fights since, argued against it.

You just didn't leave hostile guns at your back.

Stillwell wouldn't take long, anyway. He just _thought_ he was dangerous.

John T. Chance actually _was_.

* * *

Swirling dust, screams, moans, and staggering men. Some of them with guns in their hands. Absolute chaos.

Hell must look something like this, Dude thought.

And then there was no thought. He raised the left hand Winchester, point shooting, and shot a man who had the misfortune to look like he might be trying to aim that rifle he was holding, straight through the chest. Knee reined the horse to the left, raised the rifle in his right hand, and shot a barely glimpsed gunman off of the main Mission building roof.

Brought the horse around in the full circle, twirl cocking the left rifle while single handing the right, and set off in the same direction he'd started off in.

He'd somehow managed to lose sight of Glenn and Kevin in the first minute or so through the blasted gate. No matter. They'd proven they could take care of themselves.

He knew that Chance, Chollo, and Elena were just behind them somewhere, lost in the swirling dust. And again, no matter. He knew for dead certain that John T. and Chollo could take care of themselves, and anyone with them.

Pretty much at this point, if it was on a horse, it was one of them. On foot or standing on a wall or building, it was a target. Good enough.

He shot another gunman before the man could actually fire the Springfield he was aiming, and set off along the right hand side of the compound wall.

* * *

They hit a small knot of riders enroute to the Mission...

Wilkins, or else Maitland and Stillwell, apparently had men out around and to the sides, probably set to cut off escape from the Mission after the exchange. This group of eight to ten or so was caught flatfooted, looking back toward the Mission where all Hell was probably about to break loose soon.

They weren't watching the twisty streets behind them, back toward town. More's the pity.

For them.

Vin, Xander, and Heidi came around a corner practically right on top of them. Horses and men whirled, startled and caught leaning, with not even a _prayer_ of bringing guns to bear in the brief moments they had to react – nor to scatter out of the way as the trio kicked their mounts into a gallop with neither time nor room nor inclination to go around.

Instead they went through, weapons in hands already spitting out flame and death.

Seventeen hands and close to fifteen hundred pounds of baroque blanket Appaloosa and tack, with a hundred and eighty pounds of Xander Harris and an additional mass of assorted guns and gear went crashing at full gallop into a gunman atop a tall blue dun Saddlebred. It wasn't a contest –

– Saddlebred and rider went down in a tangle of flailing limbs and arms, pistol, hat, and rifle flying in separate directions.

Rasputin reared, teeth bared and forelegs and hooves flailing. The dun screamed, sounding oddly like a woman as the lashing steel shod hooves impacted as it tried to rise. It went down again, the cursing rider beneath it.

The Appaloosa came down again, close to eight hundred and thirty odd kilos of mass concentrated in two relatively small points, with straightened forelegs and the shod hooves impacting again. Once, twice, three times, and the screaming _stopped_.

The high pitched singing crack of shots breaking the sound barrier whipped past Xander's head as he brought down the drilling one handed and put a twelve gauge slug through the rider's chest to shut off the cursing as well. For_ever_. Rasputin leapt across the downed bodies, and they whipped past another horse and rider so close Xander could have slugged him.

He did the next best thing and shot him point blank through the chest with the '86 Winchester in his left hand.

Xander was vaguely aware of shots all around him, and the distinctive sounds of Vin's Mare's Leg and Heidi's .44-40's going off rapidly in response.

Another rider frantically danced his horse, a tall short coupled black, sideways out of the big baroque Appaloosa's path. He tried bringing a rifle around from way too close, and Xander simply reached out and punched him in the face with the triple muzzles of the drilling to drive him back and clear some room.

He used the room to drop the muzzles and clear the black's saddle with a load of twelve gauge buck through the rider's chest at contact distance, and then they were past.

And the entire. Freaking. _World_. Blew. The. Fuck. Up. at the front of the Mission...

Xander was vaguely aware, again, of a shot cracking past his head, and far too busy to worry about it. The muzzle blast sounded _close_ though, and behind him –

The big Appaloosa screamed like an irritated mountain lion, dropped his head between his forelegs, hunched, and raised his hindquarters and kicked backwards. Once, twice, and then again, and another horse screamed in back and went crashing down. Rasputin spun in place, swapping ends with his head coming up with bared teeth and his ears laid back, and did the rearing straight legged stomp again, and the screaming cut off abruptly. The final stamp landed on the downed rider as they went over, turning a hat and head into red ruin...

Raising the '86 one handed like an overly long ten and a half pound pistol, Xander put a .40-82 flat-point through the face of a man who had a bead on the back of Heidi's head –

– And _then _they were the only ones left alive in an intersection full of the dead; downed or panicked and running horses, and dying men.

They glanced wildly at each other, and brought the horses back around. Xander whistled for Keanu and they pelted hell bent for leather toward the back gates of the Mission, Cordelia's palomino and the spare mounts trailing behind them.

* * *

(Former) Deputy Sheriff Paul Stein and his companions walked across the open grounds to the former gates of the Mission de los Sunnydale. Paul Stein with his two double-action Colts and '97 pump twelve, Dale Cobb with his older fashioned single actions, newfangled Mauser automatic, and his shorty Winchester .32 WCF, and young Tom Doerner and Shawn Hudson with their Smith & Wessons, '87 Lever-action 12 twelve gauges, and Colt Lightning pump rifle. Cobb had _his_ Winchester '87 twelve gauge slung over one shoulder.

All that was left of the Sunnydale County Sheriff's Department that Stein knew for _certain_ wasn't completely corrupt, and could be counted on against a Munroe that was and a Wilkins gone completely around the bend.

And that completely mad English school teacher, Mr. Reginald Giles and that white faced and stone cold little bookkeeper, Aaron Levinson.

They'd lost the fifth deputy right off near the start, to a random shot.

Walking a bit fast, yes, but not quite running. Periodically, Mr. Giles would raise that big Indian double rifle and smash someone that had the temerity to pop up and actually be a threat. Or Aaron would lift that heavy Farquharson to his shoulder and pick someone off of the wall.

Just a group of gentlemen out for a stroll, minding their own business. Aaron raised the Farquharson again, squeezed, and another fellow became a non threat.

Of course, Stein reflected, a lot depended on precisely _what_ one's business actually _was_.

_Their_ business was settling Bob Munroe's business. And Interim Mayor Wilkins' business. Along with Maitland and Stillwell, if it should so work out that way.

They passed through the remnants of the gates and gatehouse, and headed directly for the entrance to the Mission proper, and wasting no time in being about it.

* * *

They came out of the dust near enough to the long westward upright of the H, where Stillwell's voice had called out from. There was a body sprawled half against the adobe wall, and a splatter and smear of blood and gray matter showing where he'd hit back of the head first before sliding down. And a blood trail and a drag mark leading in through the arched doorway.

"One of Stillwell's gunsels," Chollo said. He smirked, and added, "_Former_ gunsel."

"Yes," Elena said. "He won't be gunseling any longer... Not unless they have gunfights in the Inferno, that is."

"Just never know," Chance said. He headed in, following the drag mark and the blood trail.

The side building was arranged like the main one, around a long inner courtyard with a well -slash- fountain in the center, and rock gardens. And an inner balcony around the upper floor.

Stillwell was standing a bit to one side as Courtland knelt to examine another gunman, this one one of Bob Munroe's deputies, who was propped up against the fountain with what looked like his cheekbone crushed in and his right arm at an odd angle. Courtland didn't look to be in the best of shapes his ownself. His left arm hung to his side, and his right leg looked a bit bloody.

"Those two men surely do have a knack for creating a right mess wherever they go," Stillwell was observing, shaking his head, with a wry looking smile on his face. He had a double barreled coach gun dangling from his left hand.

Josiah Hedges stood off to one side a not too long distance away, long Winchester '73 held in the right hand, fingers through the lever, and angled back against his shoulder. He nodded as they came out, those grey eyes cool and unreadable. No more than normal dust on the faded black denim shirt and black jeans and boots, so he probably hadn't been caught directly at the edges of the blast.

Stillwell apparently caught the nod, for he turned and froze in place, also catching sight of Elena's Smith & Wesson rifle covering his midsection. _And_ her smile. Courtland stood a few feet away from the deputy, and also froze – his hand held out away from his gun.

The muzzle of Chollo's Winchester curtailed any further movement in that direction.

Hedges watched the whole thing with cool amusement.

"John T., been a long time," Hedges observed, quietly.

"It surely has been, Mr. Hedges," Chance said. "Except for seeing you at the Shoot-off, anyway, and around town off and again."

Hedges nodded, the corners of the grey eyes crinkling. "Didn't socialize much."

Chance nodded. "Well, fancy meeting you here, Mister Stillwell," he drawled.

Stillwell jerked slightly and then shook his head slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "Well, well, John T. Chance," he said. "Elena. And the 'Breed." Hedges glanced at him sharply, sidelong.

Chollo nodded to him. "Hello, Mr. Stillwell. And, it's _Chollo_, not 'the Breed'."

Stillwell smiled thinly. "As you wish. Although, now, I'm not real sure that '_Cactus_' is any better than 'Breed' as a nickname."

"Well, you know how kids are these days," Chance said. "He got it 'cause he's awful prickly about some things."

Chollo nodded. "And bein' called a breed is one of them," he stated, his voice cold.

"No shame in it," Hedges said. "I'm Irish, French, Mexican and Commanche. About as much of a breed as you get."

Chollo nodded, glancing his way briefly. "Mister Hedges, I got no real quarrel with you. You do me and John T. the courtesy of stepping off, and we got none at all, y'hear?"

Stillwell gave him a tolerant look. "Hell, boy. Hedges here is getting paid good money to _not_ step off, Breed. Greaser or not.."

Hedges smiled, those grey eyes turning cold. "Not that good." He touched '73 Winchester to hat brim and stepped away. "All yours, Chollo, John T., Ma'am."

Chollo gave him a short nod, and a quick flash of smile. "Appreciate if you'd hold this for me, then, sir." Hedges caught the Winchester out of the air with his left hand, and gave a slight nod.

"Much obliged to you, sir." Chance gave him a short, courteous nod as well. Courtland stayed quiet, and still, just watching.

Stillwell scowled. "So be it. I'll deal with you after."

"Not worried. Doubt the occasion will arise," Hedges said. "Besides, Maitland pays me. He'll be having his say if there is one."

Stillwell ignored him. "I understand you meant to see me hang," he said, "Or to kill me, John T."

"That's right. Still do."

"Well, I'd figured that when we finally got around to this, it'd be you, me and the Dude." Stillwell shook his head, smiling faintly. "Where _is_ Dude, anyway?"

Chance shrugged. "Hell, Dude's a grown man now. I done quit keeping track."

Stillwell nodded. "Guess so, now that he's stopped drinking and all." He brought up the shotgun, reaching with his right hand as Courtland went for his holster.

Three shots came, almost as one, one a much higher pitched crack than the other two, followed belatedly by the double boom of the shotgun. Both charges went into the courtyard dirt, and the recoil spun the falling Stillwell back and away.

There came a dull, earsplitting roar, and the ground rumbled and the walls shook slightly as another charge went off, to the west behind their building. Everyone ignored it.

Hedges looked down at the two bodies. "I think Mister Chance's hit the ground first."

Chollo shrugged, starting to reload his left hand pistol. "I believe mine was taller."

Hedges nodded. "Guess still wells just don't run all that deep these days." He tossed the rifle back to Chollo as the younger man holstered the left hand gun, and looked over at Chance. "Do we have a problem, you and I, Mister John T.?"

Chance shook his head slightly, smiling. "I don't see one from where I stand. Do you?" He shifted the rifle around in his left hand, and reached for a belt loop, and started replacing the spent cartridges.

Hedges shook his head."None. 'Ceptin' maybe the fact that I'm probably out a payroll by now." (beat) "There's always other employers."

"Well, get on your horse then," John T. said. "None of the men here will bother you, I suspect, and you don't bother them."

"My horse is in the stables out back," Hedges said. "Much obliged." He glanced at Elena. "Notice you didn't draw or shoot, Senora."

Elena threw a wide eyed look at him. "Was I supposed to?"

Shooting came from the west, and hoof-beats. Rory apparently came through the gap in the wall screaming like a banshee and firing that fancy prize '94 in one hand and his Remington in the other.

Chollo glanced down at the dead Courtland and began reloading his right hand pistol. "No ma'am. I don't suspect there was really any call for you to need to, at that."

"I'd watch for Rory. He can be a might precipitous sometimes, when his blood is up," Chance said.

Hedges smiled thinly and shifted the '73 so he gripped it by the fore-end, barrels down, and laid it over his right shoulder, muzzle forward. You could bring a rifle into action from there, or drop it and reach for a holster, but it wasn't fast.

Then again, _Hedges_ was fast...

"Rory probably won't shoot me if I don't give him cause. Not so sure about Chase. Or Linc," Hedges said, smiling. "Later."

"Vaya con Dios."

"Don't expect that God has much to do with that man," Chollo said. "Just at a guess."

* * *

The west side of the Mission blew up with a roar and a huge gout of flame and a plume of dust. Great Hammer of _Thor_, Giles. What in the hell did you _put_ in those things?

A guy with a rifle popped up from the little postern gate in the gateway as Vin was running toward it with the last device in his hands.

Xander squeezed the trigger on the '86, and a round from his and one from Heidi's Winchester nailed him in the chest almost simultaneously. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.

"Keep to your own targets, Didi, jeeze," Xander said. "No need for overkill."

"So sorry. And there's no such thing, Boss," Heidi said. She racked the lever and picked another man off the rear gatehouse. "There's just _kill_, followed by _time to reload_."

"Snerk," Xander shook his head, snickering. He took a guy out of the right hand whatever it was at the corner on his side, and swept the barrel across the top of the wall toward the middle. No one popped up.

Of course, if it was him, _he_ wouldn't pop up either. But they'd already determined that these people were long on stupid.

Vince set the package down at the junction of the main door and the gateway arch post at one mid-side, and began to gather dirt and rock and whatever he could find reasonably quickly to pack it with. Improvised semi-shaped charge, Soldier Boy whispered in the back of Xander's mind... Vince did something to it that Xander couldn't make out, and quickly piled dirt and more rocks on top of and against it.

And then turned and ran like hell, broken field, his mare's leg suddenly in one hand as he unslung his fifty from one shoulder.

Once Mister Improvised Explosive Device is armed, he is no longer your friend.

Vince threw himself to the ground and rolled into place next to them as Xander and Heidi threw themselves flat, face down and covering their heads with their free arms. A minute went by, two, three, and then maybe another... a shot cracked into the low trench berm Xander's head was behind. And another –

**Ba-**_**BOOM!**_

Wow. No more shots. No more gate. Uh... no more gate _house_. No more section of wall for about thirty feet to either side of the not-a-gate-anymore. Morrigan's bleeding _cunt_.

Screw _Heidi_. He was starting to seriously worry about this world's _Giles_.

Just what the hell did that man _do_ when he was in Her Majesty's Lancers?

* * *

**.**


	35. Hyenas, and Tigres, and Gunslingers -

**Chapter Thirty-four: Hyenas, and Tigres, and Gunslingers, oh my!**

* * *

"_I will instruct my Legions of Terror in proper search techniques. In particular, if they are searching for escapees and someone shouts, __'__Quick! They went that way!__'__, they must first ascertain the identity of this helpful informant before dashing off in hot pursuit.__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

"Careful," (former) Deputy Sheriff Paul Stein said, "I expect that Wilkins will have Miss Chase down here somewhere, with guards." He paused for a beat, then, "And that Trick character."

One of the younger Deputies frowned, and looked over at him nervously. "What _is_ he, anyway? Trick, I mean"

Stein shook his head. "I'm not really sure. Something evil, though." He frowned thoughtfully, and added, "Deputy Marshall Harris claims that he is a vampire, like in the Bram Stoker novel."

Cobb looked over sharply, and Reginald Giles nodded. "Yes. Very much so. Albeit that Mr. Stoker's account was rather more fanciful than the reality. But he did at least get the main methods for dealing with vampiric undead correct... except for the garlic, perhaps."

They went down another short flight of stone stairs, and down a short corridor, weapons ready. Coming to an arched doorway up ahead, Stein took a deep breath, and stepped through it, '97 pump at the ready.

He paused after stepping carefully through the archway, and then doorway beyond it. "Ahem." Stein didn't lower the shotgun, nor relax, as his eyes swept the room and determined that it was nearly empty of life as far as he could see into it... "Mister Maitland, sir."

The others entered behind him, spreading out with weapons at the ready.

Maitland looked up from where he'd been staring down at a vaguely humanoid looking set of scorch marks and ashes. "Ah. Deputy Stein," he said, nodding.

"Civilian Stein, for now sir. Might I ask where Miss Chase is?"

Maitland's lips twitched into an almost smile. "She rescued herself along with McKay and that Mex gal. Went that way, towards the big explosion to the back, I reckon." He motioned vaguely.

"I see," Cobb said, his short rifle covering the entrance to Cordelia's former cell as another deputy checked it. "And Wilkins?"

Maitland laughed harshly. "Went the other direction after Chase sliced him across the eye and face with a knife she had hid out. Lit out of here screaming like a sissy, while Dewell McKay was busy gunning down seven men like ninepins."

Stein smiled thinly. "I see. And, one last, please. Mr. Trick?"

Maitland gestured downward. "What's left of him is here where that kerosene is burning around that partial human outline."

Stein nodded, swallowing hard. "Ah."

Giles looked over at him sharply, from where he and Aaron had been standing and examining the elaborate summoning and sacrificial circle. He scowled, glasses dangling idly from the fingers of his off hand. Levinson took one look at it, and his eyes went wide.

"Kabbalistic symbols," Aaron said, pointing. "And a Lesser Seal within a Greater Sphere of Containment, I believe. Hmm."

"My word," Giles said. "Have you any idea, perchance, what or whom Wilkins was planning to summon here in this... _thing_?"

"Oh... " Maitland frowned absently, and made a vague gesture. "Something or someone called... Belfregore? Belfagorius, that's it. His main patron, I believe."

"Dear God in Heaven," Giles said, his expression shocked. "_Belfagorius __the Ravisher_? And you were planning to _assist_ him in this?"

Maitland shrugged, looking faintly amused. "Not the first time, nor probably the worst thing that Morgan and I have either helped with or watched him do over the years." Maitland's lips twitched then, almost a faint smile. "And Arthur Finch used to really enjoy Belfagorius' rites. And enjoy Belfagorius' leavings... when there were any."

Cobb grinned mirthlessly, looking like it wouldn't bother him one whit to pull the trigger of the Winchester, erasing that faint smile, along with Maitland's face. "I knew Wilkins was into some odd things, but... _this_?"

"Where do you _think_ he got the wherewithal to take over this county and township, starting as a destitute prospector, Deputy?" Maitland laughed, harshly. "Don't be a damned fool, Cobb. Worse has gone on right under your nose over the years. You just didn't want to look."

"_Dale_." Stein looked over, as Cobb's finger started going white on the trigger. "Not our job to be executioners."

Cobb relaxed fractionally, starting with the trigger finger. "Yeah. And we haven't done any of our other jobs too well, so far, either. Why start now, right?" he said, spitting on the floor at Maitland's feet.

"Have a question for _you_, Civilian Stein," Maitland said. "Two, actually. Do you intend to arrest me?"

Stein strolled casually over to Sheriff Munroe's body and, reaching down, unpinned the badge from the Sheriff's shirtfront. He looked over at Cobb, raising an eyebrow as he straightened.

Cobb grinned at him and shook his head. "Naw. Never have been interested in all the responsibility. And the kids here are too green, still."

Stein pursed his lips, bouncing the Sheriff's badge in his hand thoughtfully, and shook his head. "I have no charges sufficient for you, sir, and no authority, currently. I'll let Marshall Dude and Deputy John T. sort you out."

Maitland nodded. "And, do you have a gun I might borrow?" He gestured. "Chase and the Mex girl took all these with them when they left."

"_Peruvian_, not Mexican, sir." Aaron's voice was mild, but there was pure malevolence in the eyes behind those glasses.

Maitland shrugged.

"I do not," Stein said. "None to spare, I'm afraid. And I do believe that you are pushing your remaining luck, sir."

Maitland shrugged again. "Well, then. I'll be on my way."

Aaron raised the Farquharson suddenly and smoothly to his shoulder, eye to the sight, and the muzzle trained on Maitland's forehead. Maitland gazed back at him calmly. After a long moment, Aaron lowered the rifle, shaking his head.

"Too easy. Less than a sixteenth of an inch, and a few ounces of pressure," he said, quietly. "And a brief flash. A rope is slower."

Cobb looked at Stein, sharply. "Are you _sure_ we should just let him go?"

Stein raised an eyebrow and laughed harshly. "Do you honestly believe that he'll get past John T. and Elena? Or Dude, or young _Harris_?"

One of the younger Deputies gulped, and shook his head.

"Well, when you put it that way," Cobb said, "I do believe I would prefer to have _us_ arrest me than to deal with young Harris right now."

"Do you believe that you shall be able to deal with... _this_, sir?" Stein asked, looking to Giles.

"Perhaps." Giles looked to Aaron, who frowned thoughtfully and then nodded. "I expect that we can use a variant of what Wilkins had in mind to lock down this gateway and render it completely inactive, for a very long time at least, if not permanently. Only... an Enochian ritual, and a much lighter being, rather than a demonic one."

"What would you need?"

"Oh..." Giles glanced around. "Some turpentine. More paint. And perhaps one of the Priests. The Piarist, Brother David Ericksen, I believe would do."

"For later then," Stein said, nodding. "For now, we still have a soon-to-be former Mayor Wilkins to deal with."

* * *

Out in the corridor, Dewell glanced over to Cordelia. "Which way?" he said.

Cordelia bit her lower lip, holding the '95 across her body at high port arms. "Toward the back gate, the way Sheridan planned to go out," she said, finally. "If I know my Doofus – and I do – that's the way he'll be coming in."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Cordelia said, smiling. "He _likes_ to think he's a strategist. He won't come in the front way."

McKay gave a short bark of laughter, and then groaned. Cordelia looked sideways at him, worriedly.

"I'm ok," he said. Dewell looked at her curiously as they set off, Ianara supporting him under his left shoulder. "You don't give your man much credit, do you?"

"Huh?" Both of Cordelia eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I give Xander _lots_ of credit. Including for the things he's good at... oh. You mean the 'likes to think' thing? Oh please." She shook her head, smiling. "That's just how we show we like each other. Always have. Even back when we didn't."

"When you didn't show it that way?" Ianara asked. "Or when you didn't like each other?"

"Both, actually," Cordelia said. "Besides, Sheridan sent whassiname to get the horses ready, and those stables are back here. Sooner we get to them, sooner we can _so_ get you and Ianara to a _doctor_, and _him_ to jail. And I can come back and find my Xander."

Arthur Finch flinched at the venom in Cordelia's voice when she spoke the _hi__m_. Well, just _screw_ him. She'd had time to think about some of the things Wilkins had said about the demon he was summoning with her, and that gleam of... _arousal_ in Finch's eyes. Just... _eww_.

He also flinched every time he looked at Ianara. She was covering him steadily with one of her multitude of revolvers, and it didn't waver much. Any. And the venom in _her_ eyes showed she probably caught that whole thing also, even if she was a bit more innocent than Cordelia had been in a long while.

"Ok, so... I _know_ that there's a set of stairs going up down here somewhere. We came _in_ through them on our way back here, jeeze."

They came to and began to edge past an arched doorway leading into a tunnel that wandered off at a right angle to theirs. Dark and shadowy... She glanced back to Dewell, and he nodded grimly, looking as edgy as she felt.

Well, nice to know he had _some_ nerves. She'd so been wondering...

"Leads back to the County Building and City Hall," McKay said.

"So why didn't we _come_ down through there, instead of sitting a _horse_ all the way?" Cordelia said, exasperated.

"Probably... " a figure coalesced out of the shadows beyond the mouth of the connecting tunnel, seeming to suck them into itself as it grew to its full height and form. "Because he did– "

Whatever it was saying was interrupted by Ianara's scream and the blast of her revolver as she emptied it into the thing. And the crack of Cordelia's '95 Winchester and Dewell's '73. Arthur Finch shrieked also, cowering against the wall they were moving along, before starting to turn and run.

The crack of a shot from Cordelia's rifle over and just past his head put an abrupt end to that.

"I don't _have_ to take you to jail," she said. "_Sit_." He sat like his bones liquefied, and an acrid, urine smell came from that direction. "_Stay_."

Followed by –

"– Oh, _please_, now," the being said, blinking lambent yellow eyes at them. "It's not like that will do you any _possible_ good, and it's... irritating."

Ianara's pistol stopped clicking on an empty cylinder, and she cracked open her eyes, shrieked again, and shut them tightly.

"So is _that_."

"Helps a _lot_ if you keep your eyes open when you shoot," Cordelia said, her voice dry. Ianara opened them again, probably just so she could glare at her. At least she stopped screaming, sheesh.

Monsters either ate you or they didn't. Screaming didn't help. Cordelia should _know__ – _she'd so _done_ enough of it.

"As I was saying," the being continued, "_probably_ because Wilkins didn't want to expose you to _all_ of his secrets and guardians."

It was about nine feet tall, which shouldn't have been possible in the corridor it was in, but there you go – physics and monsters didn't always mesh, Cordelia had learned. It had ebony black skin, curly white hair and long sideburns like that Wolverine character Xander liked, and six small horns arrayed around its head, three to a side. Baroque looking plate armor on each shoulder, the hips, and each thigh, and buckled straps across the chest and waist.

And the face and body of a Greek god, and he was very male. Uh, exceedingly male. And a very, uh... upstanding fellow. Ianara turned away hastily, flushing crimson.

"Um... y-you're not that Belfagario or whatever, are you?" _Cordelia_ suddenly felt like screaming.

"No. As amusing as that might be. But you would know and I were, as would the delicious little virgin next to you," it said, sounding amused. "And don't worry – as long as you don't trespass into _this_ corridor, I can't reach you or do you harm."

Cordelia cocked her head, studying it, aware that McKay was doing the same by her side. So much for nerves – he certainly wasn't showing any now. "So, you just guard that doorway?"

"And passage," it said. "It could be entertaining to ask you riddles, and then devour you after you answered them successfully and tried to pass, but, frankly that becomes old after a few centuries."

"How droll," Cordelia said. "So, Wilkins?"

It jerked its head up its corridor. "Fled thataway. Are any of you perhaps the one who did such lovely damage to his countenance?"

"She did," McKay said. "I just shot his ear off."

"Marvelous!" It let out a rumbling, multi-voiced laugh that sent shivers down Cordelia's spine. "Do please locate him and finish the job. I'll appreciate being released back to my realm once he's dead."

"Not very loyal," McKay said.

"They usually aren't," Cordelia said. "They so _hate_ being summoned and bound. And we plan to," she added. It gave them an extremely disconcerting smile full of teeth, and swirled back into the shadows.

She led the way in edging past, after getting the now _literally_ pissy Finch back up. Ianara covered him with another revolver, having stuck the empty back in her belt.

After a time she said, "I'm not as used to guns as you are."

Cordelia glanced over, smiling. "It's ok. You did good, anyway. At least you didn't faint dead away or anything."

They made their way down, up and up, and out. As they crossed carefully to the stables, they heard firing from various areas around the mission. Sometimes sporadic, sometimes not so much so.

They only met people once on their way up and out, a pair of Munroe's deputies with a gunman who McKay apparently recognized. All three looked at the steady muzzles of Cordelia's and McKay's Winchesters, and the gunbelt and weapon festooned bandida Ianara, and went a different direction, very carefully not pointing a weapon in their direction or reaching for one.

"I'd put those away and walk out empty handed," McKay suggested. "Expect that Dude, Chance and the rest aren't going to be in an easy going mood."

"And, not that I, like, _care_, but gods help you if you're holding a gun and you meet my fiancé," Cordelia said. She smiled sweetly. "Or Heidi Barrie." They blanched, all three of them, at that last.

"You are really not a nice person, are you, Cordelia," McKay said, smiling tightly.

"And your very first clue was... ?"

"Oh, long before you tried to open up Wilkins from crotch to gizzard, smiling."

They found the building with the horses without any major encounters, although they pulled back a couple of times to avoid being seen or to let groups of riders pass. Couldn't identify the riders, so...

Although they entered the area cautiously, they did not encounter Marsh and the remaining Deputy Dawg. Good enough.

Cordelia confiscated Sheridan's spirited and pretty splash buckskin, rather than her plow horse. Plus, she liked the look of the single shot stock jutting out of the one saddle scabbard. Hey – maybe time that Xander was no longer the only long range rifleman in the family. Riflewoman. So _not_ rifle-_person_, that was just too _too_ politically correct.

"Sorry to make you a better target," Cordelia said, as she and Ianara managed to get McKay up on his roan, "But I think you'd be better off not walking any more."

"Think you might be right," McKay said, white lipped.

They put Finch up on a horse also. Cordelia didn't particularly care if he fell off riding with his hands cuffed behind him. She looked over their little remuda with grim satisfaction. Not bad. No huge load of owner-less guns and cows, but a _lot_ of currently owner-less guns, and fourteen horses. Plus seven more she confiscated, when they reached the stables themselves. Including Wilkins' Cleveland Bay carriage horse.

Keeping an old family tradition. At least there weren't seventeen bodies draped over saddles. Cordelia grinned.

Ok, now for the back gates and the hell _out_ of here...

And _then_ she'd come back for her idiot boyfriend. Jerk.

Making her rescue _herself_.

* * *

Working the action on the fancy prize '94 as fast and smooth as his hand was capable of, Rory Harris cleared a section of the roof and low parapet wall of the long, gallery like building past the hole in their wall. Four men dropped away, or slumped on the parapet, guns dropping from their hands. Another toppled slowly over the edge, a Sharps carbine tumbling down with him.

Right beside him on that big white stud horse, Chase took another one out of a slit window with that fine, pistol-gripped, full magazine '86 of his, and jerked it up, whirling the horse with knee and a weight shift to nail a second out of the little corner rise at one end. A Winchester fired upward into the air as the gunman fell backward.

Goddamned dandy looked like he was having the time of his life.

Hell, so was Rory. He hadn't done this much damage in one sitting since him, Linc, and Rand went after the Blakely brothers and the O'Toole's way back when.

"Not bad, Barbarian," Chase shouted over as he wheeled the big white Lipizzaner back, searching for new targets.

"Told you – " Rory picked another damned gunsel off the other end, biting off a curse. How many humping guns did Maitland and Stillwell _have_, anyway? "– _Define_ that if'n you're going to use it!"

"Bar-bare-ee-ann," Chase yelled back. "Noun. Ugly yahoo with a bushy handlebar, piggy eyes, blue sash, and a smell like a three day dead coyote. Named because everything they say sounds like bar bar bar!"

"Well, hell," Rory yelled back across. "Why didn't you just say so?"

They both tracked and picked off the same gunman at the same time, as he stumbled out of a lower doorway. Horses swirled around and past them, stirring the clouds of dust that hellacious blast had raised, and swept off to either side. Sounded like there was a hell of a lot more shooting going on up front, where the townspeople were coming in. Hard to tell, though –

There was just so damned much shooting going on everywhere.

He wasn't sure where Linc and Rand were, any longer. Lost in the dusty haze somewhere. He could hear Rand's rifle on occasion though, so they were still out there. Sounded like they were inside the damned building, cleaning out one of the upper galleries...

A man staggered out of the dust, startling Rory's palomino in to a rearing, pawing stance. The man jerked back, throwing up an arm – not that that would _do_ much against those hooves, but it was instinctive, Rory guessed.

He brought Golden Boy under control, and down. Recognized the man in that black suit, under all that dust. And one of Munroe's remaining deputies with him.

Rory Harris drawled, "Well, hello there, Vernon."

Trask started, then turned his head slowly. There was an ugly black and purple bruise on his forehead and one temple, and a cut above his left eye. He holstered his pistol as he saw Rory's and Chase's Winchesters pointed at him and his companion.

"Well, Rory Harris. Small world, isn't it?" Trask said. "And Mr. William Randolph Chase. _Together__ – _my my."

Rory tilted his Winchester back over his right shoulder. "And it do be getting smaller ever year. My nephew tells me we might even have flying machines before long, tightening it up."

"I know Chase there from way back. And I hear tell you used to be fast with those two Remingtons, Rory. _Real_ fast."

Rory smiled. "Hell, Vernon. I'm _still_ that fast. Just gotten lazy and all sedentary like, these days." His eyes hardened. "Faster than you, anyway."

"Let's jerk these pistols and find out." Trask dropped his hand and reached suddenly.

Rory fired, a pistol having appeared in his left hand, brought down the rifle across body and fired again, Golden Boy dancing sideways. "Whoa, boy," he said, "Way ahead of you there, Vernon." He glanced at the downed deputy, and grinned over to Chase. "Not bad, Mincing Dandy."

"Why thank you, Blustering Rapscallion."

"Now let's not start _that_ hoss crap again, you prancing asshole."

Chase smirked at him. "Well, then, let's go find my niece and your nephew, so we won't have to, shall we?"

"Let's do."

* * *

Glenn and Kevin caught up to him shortly after he broke free of the dust cloud, weapons in hand, and sitting those horses like they were a part of them. A small group of gunmen and deputies scattered as they came around the end of the long two story gallery style building forming that leg of the Mission's H.

Or tried to. Dude and Kevin picked them off coolly as they flushed, with spaced, aimed and deliberate shots from their Winchesters. Scott whirled his big gray the other way, clearing a trio of gunsels off the roof and upper balcony with a pistol in each hand.

Dude opened the big double doors leading in by the simple expedient of spinning his buckskin to face away, and then jigging the big gelding to raise his hindquarters and kick the damned things open at the join.

Took two kicks. They just didn't make doors like they should.

Kev and Scott rode in past him as he was getting the buckskin sorted out and turned around. Damned showoffs.

He rode in after, sliding out of the saddle to leave the gelding ground hitched. Scott grinned like a maniac, or like Heidi Barrie, and nudged the big gray up the staircase heading to the second floor. Kevin took it right behind him, Winchester in one hand, pistol in the other.

Gunfire erupted as they split at the top and began clearing the upper gallery.

Dude paused for a few moments out of the way and under the far balcony overhang, reloading both rifles. Then he shrugged slightly as the gunfire from upstairs diminished. A body fell over the rail to hit the flagstones, a rifle landing on top.

It wasn't either Glenn or Kev. Good enough.

He went through a doorway deeper in –

– And met a blank faced and tired looking elder Maitland coming out of a stairwell from down below. Maitland straightened and sighed tiredly as he saw Dude.

"Hello, Dude. And here I was hoping you were dead."

"Not hardly, Victor," Dude said. "And how the hell are you?"

Maitland shrugged. "Been better. My boy? As in: what the hell happened?" His hands and his holster were empty, Dude noticed.

"Had a slight case of deliberate accident, I'm afraid." Dude didn't smile. Wasn't a smiling matter.

Maitland nodded. "Was afraid that might happen."

Dude looked at him hard, and said, "Miss Chase? And our no longer Esteemed Interim Mayor?"

"Miss Chase sliced Wilkins across the eye with a knife he forgot to take from her," Maitland said. He gave a harsh, short bark of laughter. "Damned fool couldn't do shit right, in the end. Last I saw, the Chase gal was escaping with Mister McKay and the little Mex gal, excuse me: _Peruvian_ gal, and Wilkins was running like a coyote."

Dude smiled slowly. _This_ was. "Well, don't that beat all."

Maitland nodded. "It surely do." (beat) "You know, Dude, I'd kill you, but I'm at a slight disadvantage here." He looked pointedly at Dude's Winchesters and Single-action Army's.

"Well hell. We can fix that." Dude glanced around. Someone else had been through this area before him. He spotted a single-action at the hand of a dead Maitland gunsel, stepped over, toed under it and kicked it to Maitland's feet. "Help yourself."

Maitland nodded, smiling slightly. "Much obliged." He squatted slowly and picked up the revolver, easing up just as slowly to his feet. "Goodbye, Dude."

Dude brought down one Winchester and shot Maitland through the chest, brought down the other one and shot him again.

"Vaya con Dios, Victor." Maitland half turned, and crumpled to the ground, the pistol falling from a slack hand. Dude looked down at the body with a weary expression. "Save me a seat by the fire."

* * *

They went in cautiously through the ruins of the back gateway. And wall. Heidi leading the way, with her new and just awful sweet '92, Vince and Xander spread out behind her. Xander was slightly more to the rear left, providing at least some semblance of overwatch for the other two...

Not much in the way of people back here. No one atop the low line of stables off ahead. A ways off ahead. Large place.

As Xander managed to recall from the description of the priests, and from what he saw from up in the high ramparts of the Sunnydale arms, the Mission covered the full area of the grounds that would one day be Sunnydale High School. Including the area that would be the baseball diamond and stands, football field and practice field, and the tennis courts and gym. A cold chill rippled up his spine at the knowledge...

A lot of the rear grounds was vegetable gardens and outbuildings, and a nearly chest high stand of corn along one wall to the corner. No one on the stable roof, and they kept a sharp eye on the outbuildings as they moved up, darting from cover to cover.

Apparently overwatch and move, and leapfrog and cover weren't exclusively twentieth century military skills and tactics. Heidi and Vince seemed to have it down pat, as did Soldier Boy.

There was a swirl of riders way up ahead, going both ways around the back of the mission proper. Xander recognized some of them as Lazy-H riders, and they left them alone. It didn't take long for the two long range lever actions to clear the few gunsels that the riders missed from the Mission rooftops.

They got into a slight spat near one of the little clusters of outbuildings. That didn't last long, either.

Off aways, up ahead and on the opposite side of the grounds from the little stables compound, there was a figure walking their direction. Or maybe just towards the back gates...

It had its rifle up on the shoulder, barrel forward and hand holding the fore-end, and it raised the other hand – spread and empty – clear of the gunbelt as it saw them, so Xander left it unshot.

Him, as it developed. The Branscombe Richmond looking Indian.

Xander resisted mightily the impulse to hold up his right hand, palm out, and say 'How'. It wasn't all that hard. Didn't seem like it'd be all that funny, either.

Instead, he just nodded as the man came up to them, Model '86 not quite pointed in his direction.

While you _could_ get a rifle into action quickly from that position, it wasn't likely. _Xander _could, probably Vin, and maybe a few others, but not many. Besides, Heidi's rifle was trained dead on. No point in being redundant.

"Howdy."

Xander's lips twitched. Man was making it just awful hard. He nodded. "Likewise."

"I'm on my way out. There a problem with that, Deputies?" Mr. Indian said, smiling.

"Naw, uh... hey. I'm _not_ gonna keep thinking of you as Mr. Indian," Xander said. "You have a name?"

"Been called worse," he said. "And it's Vince. Vince Black."

Of _course_ it was. Well, they'd already figured out that whomever or whatever sent them here had a sense of humor...

"Xander Harris," Xander said, managing to keep a straight face, somehow. "But you probably already knew that." He shrugged. "Got no problem, and you're leaving."

Black nodded. "Much obliged."

"By the way, seen my girl anywhere?"

"Naw. Wilkins was keeping her below in the subbasements, last I heard."

"All right." They let him pass.

"Oh," Xander said, as a thought struck him. Black turned back partway, looking curious. "Not to be inhospitable or anything, but there's some horses back there that're ours. Hate it if they weren't there later. We'd have to have a short chat that only one of us would enjoy."

"Take it I'm not the one that would enjoy it." Black smiled, and shook his head. "Naw," he said. "I have my own in the livery stable. And regardless of what you've heard about Injuns, we don't _all_ steal horses. That's Comanche mostly, these days."

"Uh... " Xander's brain froze for a moment. He shook his head to clear it. "Sorry, _really_ didn't mean to say or imply anything racist there. Just... "

"I know." Black turned and continued walking, a slight smile on his lips.

"Sure that's a good idea, Boss?" Heidi asked, her voice flat and incurious.

"Yeah. What the hell," Xander said, sighing. "The Vanishing American has already vanished enough."

A short while and a bit longer of a leapfrog and cover move later, Xander's eyes narrowed, and a slow half grin spread across his lips.

Cordelia Chase. Leading a string of twenty some odd horses, wearing enough guns to start a small revolution, and with a Dewell McKay sitting one of the horses. And a small Ampata looking like a Mexican Bandido in one of the Pancho Villa westerns. And Deputy Mayor Finch, with his hands apparently bound behind him.

Figures. Not really a wait to be rescued kinda girl.

"Well, damn," Heidi said. Vince nodded, pursing his lips.

"Hey – old family tradition. At least she doesn't have five hundred head of cattle and dead bodies draped across all the saddles."

Behind the little cavalry troop, a figure raised itself up on the roof for what looked like a small adobe shed about thirty yards away, aiming a rifle towards Cordelia and her group.

Xander swung the '86 Winchester to his shoulder and shot him off the roof without bothering to take his eyes off his girl.

Cordelia stopped, and looked back to see the figure slowly slide over the edge and drop to the ground, rifle staying balanced on the edge of the roof.

She gave him a genuine one hundred percent accept no substitutes Cordelia Chase thousand watt smile, with extra wattage, huffed and blew hair out of her eyes, and said, "Hi Honey."

* * *

.


	36. Chapter the Next to Last:

**Chapter the Next to Last: I Can Feel the Devil Walking Next to Me...**

* * *

"_I will funnel some of my ill-gotten gains into urban renewal projects. Although slums add a quaint and picturesque quality to any city, they too often contain unexpected allies for heroes.__"_ ― The Evil Overlord List

* * *

Hah. Good gods. He looked like Tom Selleck from that Quigley movie, only not as tall, and without the mustache. Long rifle slung over his back, chaps, boots and hat, and a gradually broadening grin. She cocked her head slightly, trying to picture him with Selleck's mustache.

Nah. Just... no.

Xander was standing there like a dope, with Heidi to one side and Vin to the other, looking at her like it was August at the beach and he was drinking her up with his eyes. Not a worry.

She felt like she could drink him up with hers forever...

Those chocolate eyes flashed suddenly, turned green, and he swung that big Model '86 up to his shoulder and fired it at something behind and upward from them. Somehow without ever taking those eyes off of hers... Damn.

She managed to wrench hers away long enough to look back. There was a body slumping off of a roof, to fall limply away, leaving a rifle balanced precariously at the edge. And again, _damn_.

Cordelia huffed and blew straggles of hair out of her eyes, and gave him the full wattage Cordelia Chase smile, with watts to burn.

"Hi honey," she said brightly.

"Well, hey." Xander was still looking at her like he was seeing sunrise over the ocean for the first time. That slow half grin spreading across his lips went all lopsided on her. "I'm here to rescue you," he said.

"So I see." Her own smile got broader and went all lopsided, too. "Hope you don't mind my meeting you halfway."

Xander shook his head slowly. "Nah. Saves on explosives this way. We'll have some left for New Year's."

Cordelia bit her lower lip. "Good plan. And, oh _G__od_, I'm _so_ very glad to see you, Doofus."

"And me, you."

"Let's get out of here. Dewell's bleeding to death, Ianara's sick and exhausted, and I'm tired, hungry, and _filthy_," Cordelia said. She didn't _care_ if she still appeared to be drinking in the sight of him like she'd been dying of thirst. She _had_ been. "Did you, Heidi, Dude, John T., and Vin, and those two horsepokes do all of this yourselves?"

"Naw," Vince said, smiling a bit broader than usual his own self. "Brought company with party favors."

Xander nodded. "Could say we got by with a little help from our friends." That smile kept getting broader as he looked over Cordelia, Ianara, and McKay. "Collecting desperadoes again?"

She tossed her hair. "He followed me home, dear. We may need to keep him."

Xander nodded slowly. "Hey. Whatever Lola wants... Let's do get the hell out of here, first though. Once I put paid to Wilkins."

Heidi drawled. "You take your girl and McKay and Ianara out. I'll do for him."

Vince nodded. "And me."

"We can do both," Cordelia said. "Wilkins ran screaming like a little girl and fled down a tunnel to his offices."

There came a sudden, unexpected shot and Vince staggered and dropped his rifle. A harsh voice came from back toward the Mission rear gates. She turned in shock, as did several others... A disheveled and bloody faced Dillon Marsh staggered out from some cover she'd have sworn couldn't have hid one of those antelope jacks her Afghan hound used to chase...

Marsh: "I don't _think_ so young – "

Four nearly simultaneous shots rang out and Marsh staggered, grimacing horribly.

Xander worked the lever, aimed deliberately and shot him through the head. "Schmuck."

Heidi shook her head. "Talk when it's time to talk, shoot when you should be shooting. Idiot."

Vince winced, one hand clasped on his leg, and a pistol in the other. "Well, he got it half right," he said, sliding Deke Matthews' former prize revolver back into his belt holster.

Cordelia blinked. "Crap."

"Well put, honey."

Cordelia sighed, rolling her eyes. She swung down from her saddle, still holding that scoped Winchester '95, and was followed over by Xander. "Oh, shut up, and help me get a bandage around his leg. Dumbass."

Xander winked and said, "I love you too," getting another full wattage Cordelia Chase smile.

Heidi rolled her eyes, smiling. "I'll go get the horses. You two try not to hump each other even sillier until _after_ we get out of here."

"Guess she told _us_," Cordelia said.

"Oh, hell, son," a way too familiar voice called out, saying, "Will you just shut up and kiss my niece so we can wrap this up and get these people to a doctor?"

Cordelia turned, her eyes going wide. She put a hand to her mouth as it fell open. "Daddy?"

William Randolph Chase – that's who it had to be – blinked from the back of his horse next to Rory, Linc, Rand, and some little short guy. "Grand uncle, actually. And let me say, hearing a girl _young_ enough to _be_ my daughter call me that is awfully disturbing."

"A lot of men your age seem to like it," Cordelia said, reflexively, and closed her mouth with a snap, horrified.

Rory had swung down by this point and hurried over to her and Vin, and was whipping the sash off from around his waist to use as a bandage. "Ran," he called out, "Check on McKay, he looks bloody too."

"He is, sir," Ianara said. "He was shot twice, killing all those men for us. Maybe more than twice," she added.

"'Zata fact," Rory said. "Well, now."

William Randolph didn't seem nearly as horrified by what had come out of her mouth as she was. _He_ seemed almost as amused as Xander.

"Swear to God, Rory, I don't know how we're ever going to get the next generation going," he said. "Half these young people seem to want to do nothing but be wandering gunslingers and ride off into the sunset until they end up old, shot up saddle tramps. And the real young'uns can't even seem to figure out what to do with a pretty girl," he shook his head, adding, "It's like they don't have the sense that God gave, well, you."

"I know," Rory said. He finished tying off the sash around Vince's leg. "'Spect we're gonna have to just lock 'em in a bedroom out at the Lazy-H with nothing to do but figure it out."

Cordelia got over her shock in a hurry. "Oh, shut up, you two."

There came a deep, rolling attenuated boom that sounded like it came from a _long_ way off, and Xander along with Heidi and several others snapped around in that direction.

She couldn't see anything... and the shot hadn't _appeared_ to have hit anyone...

Cordelia's eyes widened and she gasped suddenly, whipping back in the other direction with Sheridan's scoped '95 coming up, her eyes searching. Where – _there_. Her gaze fixed on something and the rifle's butt settled into her shoulder as it came level and crashed out a shot.

Xander whirled that way himself, his eyes searching frantically even as Cordelia worked the lever and her rifle crashed back into her shoulder again.

Up on the railing around the big mill windmill tower, the one that she'd figured Xander or Vin would have cleared already, a figure jerked and staggered as her second shot went home. It jerked again, _not_ from any shot of _hers_ or any of theirs, and what looked like a long barreled scoped rifle fell from its hand as it tumbled over the railing and fell down and away...

Long moments later that deep attenuated boom came rolling in again.

Damn. Reflexively, the little calculator in the back of Cordelia's head added up one Mississippi's since that final jerk, came up with a range figure and... well, just _day_-um. If the range estimation that Mr. Info Dump Guy came up with was _right_...

'_Jumping Janus and all of his two faced _children_,_' Still Quiet said, her mental voice awed, '_A __g__ods be__ damned Billy Dixon shot. _Twice_. In a _row_._'

Fuck. She heard Xander swallow hard, exchanging sidelong glances with her.

"I'm thinking you didn't anchor Mr. Sharp as well as you thought, Boss," Heidi said, her voice sounding hushed and a bit awed.

"Thinking maybe you're right, Barrie," Vin said, and then groaned.

"He gonna be all right?" Xander asked, looking over with concern.

"Oh yeah," Rory said. "Just went through the meaty part of the upper thigh. No bone or nothing."

"Good," Xander said, glancing over at Mr. Chase, "Well, then, if there aren't going to be any more interruptions, and if it's all the same to you, sir, I'm going to kiss your niece now, so we can get on with this."

He did.

Wow, did he _ever_. It couldn't _possibly_ have lasted as long as it felt like. Because _Dewell_ would have been _long_ bled out by then... Xander pulled back finally, reluctantly, and she looked up at him with half lidded eyes to find herself molded against him, one foot hooked behind his leg, and with both arms around his neck.

"Hi there," Xander said. "Can I have you?"

* * *

She suspected that she'd said 'yes'. Or maybe 'oh _G__od_ yes'. Again.

They sent Dewell and Vince off with Heidi, Linc, and Rand for an escort. Probably overkill – _Heidi_ was freaking dangerous enough. But when Cordelia made that observation, Heidi just smirked and said something about there being no such thing: just _kill_ and _time to reload_...

Xander seemed to find that outrageously funny for some reason. She thumped him once just on general principles.

They sent off Arthur Finch as well, bound for a jail cell. Would have sent off Ianara to the doctor as well, but she wouldn't have any of it once she discovered her beloved Aaron was up with the others. Cordelia just couldn't quite wrap her mind around the concept that 'her Aaron' was Jonathan freaking Levinson.

She was also having a hard time with _Giles__ – _Reginald Giles, _their_ Giles great grandfather or something like – being the one with the earth shattering bombs. Like, wow.

And it seemed like more than half the town was out there, all carrying weapons. Like, double wow.

Not many survivors or prisoners; lots of bodies. The town undertaker was going to have to hire extra help. Somehow, Cordelia just couldn't quite seem to feel bad about that.

Xander's mouth fell open and his eyes almost bugged out when a stoic faced Oz and a grim looking Gunn came up holding a bloody, disheveled and wild haired Blake Maitland by the arm, for Dude to take custody of.

"_Maitland_? How the hell?" Xander said. Cordelia boggled right alongside of him...

Blake had a trickle of blood running down from one ear, and was grinning wildly, looking massively shell-shocked. He looked blankly at Xander, as _her_ man repeated the question, then apparently a synapse closed, and he grinned wider.

"Hit the release latch and threw it to one of the guys in front of me! Stillwell's guy! And threw myself back out the gate and over and went rolling into a little ditch running along the wall past the gate, and my arms over my head!"

The Maitland kid was speaking too loudly, and enunciating too clearly. And punctuating everything with exclamation points. Cordelia gathered he'd been a bit too close to the blast zone...

Hell. She'd been upstairs and across the _courtyard_, and _she'd_ been a little too close to the blast zone.

Seeing Stein and three deputies, Stein now wearing Munroe's badge, was almost as much of a shock for Cordelia.

She was kind of starting to gather that it had been an interesting evening, and an interesting couple of days before that.

* * *

Blake Maitland went off to the doc's with Deputy Scott and Deputy Smith to keep an eye on him. They took Cordelia's string of horses with them to drop off at the Livery, also. All except for Keanu, Sheridan's pretty, doe eyed buckskin, and the mount that Ianara was using. Xander kept the bloody legged and red muddy hooved Rasputin...

Cordelia raised her eyebrows looking at that, and he knew she'd pry the story out of him later. Plenty of time for that, now.

They were about to all saddle up and head into town for Wilkins – assuming he hadn't fled for parts unknown yet – when a familiar looking figure on a tall chestnut Thoroughbred came riding in through the hole where the gates – and the gatehouse – used to be. Lazenby looked around with bemusement at all the damage.

And a bit less than amusement at all the bodies. He just looked tired and kind of saddened by that.

Xander knew how he felt, now that the adrenaline and exhilaration were done. And now that he had Cordy back... He felt an odd mix of a hundred feet tall and light as a feather, and infinitely old and weary beyond his years.

His _real_ years, not the extra four that Whomever had stuck on him.

Xander nodded to the older cowboy, a slow smile spreading across his lips. He never had figured out where the old westerner's perch was. Never had to shoot him, either. Nor get shot by him.

He was really kind of happy with both outcomes.

"Dude, John T.," Lazenby said. He had his long rifle across his saddle bow, but didn't seem particularly interested in doing anything with it.

And he had a huge, like thirty-six inch at the shoulder and a hundred fifty plus pounds huge, yellow dog with a black muzzle trotting by the feet of the chestnut horse. Anatolian Shepherd, maybe.

The yellow dog plopped down and sprawled at the feet of the horse, and looked real intent on chewing at something in the pad of one paw.

"Ned." Dude nodded to him, looking him over curiously. "Kinda surprised to see you here, now."

Lazenby shrugged. "Why? Don't recall that I've done anything to be arrested for, Marshall."

"Well," John T. drawled, "Could make a case for just on general principles and your association with Maitland, Stillwell, and Wilkins, but no – I can't recall that you have either."

They looked at Cordelia and she shrugged and shook her head. "Never saw him once I was taken, the whole time I was a prisoner. Everyone I have reason to be pissed off at, except for Wilkins, seems to be dead."

Lazenby pushed his hat back and smiled at her. "I'm real glad to see you unharmed, Miss Chase. Your young man there was a bit distraught."

"He was, was he?" Cordelia hugged Xander's arm to herself with her free one. "Fancy that."

Lazenby nodded, and looked to Xander. "Mighty fine shooting and moves there, son. Didn't see all of it, but saw _most_ of it through the scope here."

"Why didn't you shoot?" Xander asked, curiously. "Before that last, I mean. You obviously had me dead bang at a number of points, before then."

Lazenby shrugged, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "Thought about it, I honestly did. Several times as a matter of fact... Let's just say that Wilkins taking your pretty gal there, and Maitland standing by it, didn't set well with me. I decided to let you and Victor sort it out between yourselves." He smiled lazily, and added, "Didn't seem to set well with McKay or Hedges, either, I noticed."

Cordelia nodded and smiled at the old cowboy. "It really didn't, in the end, where it mattered."

Xander nodded. Good enough. "I just gotta ask," Xander said. "Where the hell were you set up, anyway? About drove me nuts trying to spot you."

Lazenby's smile broadened and he winked at him. "Think I'll hang on to that one for now. Might need that trick again, you and I ever get crossways of each other," he said. "Besides, you didn't pay for those cards."

* * *

"Stand aside, please," Interim Sheriff Stein said. "We have business with Interim Mayor Wilkins, if he is in there."

"He is," one of the two deputies at the doorway to City Hall said. He looked nervously at the gathered crew, and gulped – but he and his partner didn't stand aside. "I'm afraid that we can't do that, Deputy Stein."

"Former Deputy," his partner said. He was holding a pump action Winchester shotgun across his chest in a white knuckled grip.

"I think that you'll find that he's the lawfully appointed Interim Sheriff now," Dude said. "Until such time as a legal County Board of Inquiry can either find different or confirm that."

"I wouldn't know anything about that, Marshall," the first one said. "Our orders are to hold this doorway. We intend to follow them."

"So be it," Dude said.

Awfully brave, Xander thought. Especially from just two guys facing off against Dude, Chollo, John T., Elena, himself, an exasperated looking Giles, and a pissed off looking Deputy Cordelia Chase. Not to mention an Aaron Levinson with that big Farquharson, and Ianara decked out like the Frito Bandito. And Rory Harris and William Randolph Chase...

"Mr. Giles? If you would be so kind, sir," John T. drawled.

Giles sighed heavily, and adjusted something on the satchel he was holding. Then he stepped back, whirling it by the straps around his head and let it fly in through the doors the Deputies were guarding.

Neither of them made any attempt to shoot him to stop him.

Xander wouldn't either, not if he was looking down the barrels of Cordelia's drilling and John T.'s Winchester.

"I were you," Chollo said, "I'd run. Very fast and very far."

They looked over their shoulder at the satchel sliding across the marble floor towards the double doors at the back of the antechamber –

– and did _just_ that. Out their doors and down the stairs around and past the Marshall's little group.

Dude, John T., Elena, and Xander and all the rest of them backed hastily down the stairs, and all the way out to the edge of the fountain in the square.

"Well, this distance should be more than sufficient," Giles said. "This one isn't nearly as large, nor as potent a charge as the others."

The charge went off in a huge, dull clap of sound. Dust, smoke, and marble chips flew out through the double entry doors. The columns holding up the roof of the portico shattered. The columns holding up the entry way foyer's roof shattered and blew outwards. So did all of the windows on the sector.

Bits and pieces of door and marble and mahogany doorway rained down halfway between the entry way and where they stood. A large, heavy, ornate brass knocker bounced three times and came to rest at Xander's feet.

And seemingly in slow motion and with a great, massive and elegant dignity, the portico roof hit the ground and smashed, followed by the entry way roof. And then the entire front of that part of the building slid down the face and shattered into rubble.

Everyone turned and _looked_ at Giles, who was standing there cleaning his glasses with an embarrassed expression.

Xander bent and picked up the knocker, and gave Giles a raised eyebrow and a bemused look. Askance. That's the feeling. _Definitely_ askance.

"O-or, perhaps that e-estimation may have been just slight a bit in error... "

* * *

Once they managed to find a stairwell that wasn't collapsed, or blown to hell, getting up to the third floor and locating the Mayor's office wasn't all that hard.

Xander made a solemn resolution: never _ever_ let Giles play with the explosives. Not unless you were absolutely, positively, one hundred percent deadly _certain_ that you wanted something blown into gravel.

When he leaned down and whispered that into Cordelia's ear, she looked at him wide eyed and nodded, biting at her lower lip. And then collapsed against him into laughter and helpless giggles. He had to support her up a full flight of stairs.

Giles glared at them all the way up to the top.

They went past the receptionist, or personal assistant or whatever, looking like a hot, blonde, fortyish spinster librarian, without pausing. Cordelia held a finger to her lips and froze her in place with a patented icy glare.

The door to his office was locked. Chollo took care of that with a quartet of rifle rounds to the wood and door jamb around the lock, and Dude kicked it open.

They found Wilkins standing behind his desk, packing things into a leather valise. He looked up with an expression of extreme annoyance when they came in.

"Well, gosh," Wilkins said. "I had thought that I left strict instructions with those deputies that I wasn't to be disturbed for any reason." The knife slash across his face was livid and caked with dried blood, and the gaping ruin of his left eye was weeping clear, reddish fluid.

"It's just _so_ hard to get reliable help these days," Cordelia said, her tone of voice mocking.

Wilkins gave her his best genial grin, and looked at Xander. "That's one spunky little girl you've got there. If I thought she'd still be here in a hundred years, I'd save her to eat."

"I'll be here longer than you," Cordelia said, tapping her lips with a forefinger, and examining him clinically.

"She's right about that," John T. said.

Xander ignored Wilkins, turning his back to examine the office curiously. Big office. And nicely, expensively appointed. Tastefully too.

He'd been in Cordelia's parent's house often enough by now to know how to tell. It made Cordelia's dad's study look almost tacky. Almost.

Cordelia's _dad's_ study didn't make your skin crawl.

One entire end of the room was open and free of furnishings, and there was a large, expensive looking Persian rug there by the fireplace, with a few comfortable chairs around the edges.

"Interim Mayor Wilkins," Interim Sheriff Stein said, "You are under arrest on numerous charges. Please stand down and relinquish yourself to our custody, sir, to be bound over for trial as soon as proper charges may be laid against you."

"Or do not, and be shot down where you stand, like a rabid dog," Deputy Cobb suggested.

"Now, that's just rude," Wilkins said. "I can't believe that you would turn on me like this, Deputy Stein, after all that I've done for this town."

"Oh, just shoot him," Cordelia said, tiredly. "He's completely and utterly bug fucking insane."

The gun cabinet on one wall caught Xander's eye, and he wandered over to examine it and the contents. Something inside grabbed his attention, and finding it unlocked, he took out the longarm that had caught his interest.

The other two Deputy Sheriffs were gathering items into large leather valises; one at Wilkins' desk, working around him, and the other at a filing cabinet. Chollo confiscated the bag that Wilkins had been packing, while Dude grabbed a sheaf of papers he'd been examining from a credenza.

"Now, Young Missy, I don't find that sort of thing amusing. I'm a family man," Wilkins said, as Cobb came around the desk to jerk his hands around behind him and cuff him. "Let's watch the swearing, please."

Cordelia shook her head and crossed to a large, glass fronted, and expensive looking cabinet of some dark wood. It was standing open, and looked to be filled with all kinds of weirdness.

Skulls, shrunken heads, swords, wicked looking daggers, glass bottles...

And apparently, Cordelia's handguns and stuff. She smiled and started removing them from the cabinet, along with her purse. The gunbelt, with the pistols and Bowie knife, went looped over her shoulder.

"Thank you at least for keeping these safe for me," she said, "Like you promised."

Xander watched her with amusement. He slung the firearm he'd confiscated over his shoulder, along with a leather shooting bag full of rounds and associated items.

Wilkins paused to look hard at Xander as Cobb led him around the desk. More like shoved him, actually. Cobb wasn't being very gentle.

"Young Mister Harris," Wilkins said. "I can tell you Sunnydale owes you a debt. A great debt. And it _will_ be repaid. Yes, sir, we'll mark that invoice 'Paid in full', very soon."

No one was paying enough attention to a white faced Ianara, who was watching Wilkins and his every move from under Aaron's arm, the way a mongoose watches a cobra.

They should have been, maybe...

Xander suspected, when he thought about it later, that everyone was just too horribly fascinated by the spectacle of the absolutely insane Wilkins unraveling before their eyes.

There was a loud, flat bark of a report, and a white rimmed black hole suddenly appeared in Wilkins forehead.

"Oh, my. Gosh," Wilkins said. His knees buckled suddenly and he slid boneless to the floor out of the grasp of a startled deputy Cobb.

"You are right, Miss Cordelia," Ianara said. "It does work better if you keep your eyes open."

Cordelia nodded wordlessly, her eyes wide. They narrowed after a minute. "It does. Really. And, hey, nice shot."

Ianara nodded, her eyes wide, and Maitland's fancy, engraved single action still held out in both white knuckled hands. Aaron reached out carefully and pulled it away from her, and slid it into a pocket.

"Damn," Dude said, shaking his head.

"Well, hell," John T. said."Still, it _does_ save the state and county the expense of a trial."

"Oh... _crap_," Xander said, his eyes starting to widen. He lunged for Cordelia, three long steps, and grabbed her by the arm. His other hand grabbed Aaron by a handful of jacket over the shoulder, and spun him and Ianara towards the office door. "Run! Everyone! _Run __now_."

* * *

It was a good thing that Xander had noticed that an area of that big Persian rug had started to glow greenish white after Wilkins hit the floor. Glow in a pattern a lot similar to that evil diagram in the Mission subbasement...

Gotta love those Sunnydale reflexes and ingrained paranoia. Not even _Giles_ had noticed that first.

They'd taken a side entrance out, not wanting to bother with slowing themselves down by picking their way across rubble. Good thing, too –

– It was made of blue white flame and crackling, coruscating energy. It swelled and shot up through the roof and towered at least a hundred feet above the top of city hall. It had bat like wings, flailing tentacles growing out of its shoulders and armpits, and tentacles for fingers. It had the face and body of an Adonis, a neat flaming goatee, and spiraling horns curling back from its brow like an ibex. And it was... err, _equipped_.

Oh, _boy_ was it equipped.

Was it _ever_. With tentacles around its equipment.

Yikes.

Reginald Giles removed his glasses and stood there gawping, glasses dangling forgotten from his fingers. "B-bel-belfagorius the Ravisher," he stammered, in an oddly clinical tone, "Or at least his non-corporeal form."

Cordelia was _so_ very _glad_ now that Wilkins hadn't been able to drag or carry her into that circle and use that wicked knife on her, now. I mean, c'mon. Seriously? Guys – it's really _not_ the size that matters if you know what you're doing.

And seriously, even if it was, _that_ was just ridiculous.

And scary...

Speaking of scary, there was what looked like a small writhing figure clutched in the tentacles of one hand of the thing. A small, ghostly Richard Wilkins the First. And it was _screaming_.

Belfagorius let out a roar that sounded and felt like an earth tremor, waved its... equipment, and then dwindled and was sucked back into the ruins of the roof line of City Hall and vanished. Much of city hall collapsed and was sucked in behind it.

A tiny wailing cry trailed behind it, lingering after for what seemed a long time after the thing had vanished.

City Hall, naturally, or what was left of it, continued to burn. It would probably burn _out_, Cordelia was pretty sure.

She seriously doubted that _anyone_ was going to run in there with buckets or hoses and try to fight the blaze.

Not after seeing that.

She was kind of glad now that Miss Personal Assistant was gone when they'd run out of Wilkins office. And she'd noticed there hadn't been any deputies guarding the side door.

Some things even the bad guys didn't really need to have happen to them.

Maybe.

* * *

.


	37. Chapter the Last:

**Chapter ****the Last: Miscellaneous is always the largest category...**

* * *

"_The time for action is past! Now is the time for senseless bickering!__"_ ― Ashleigh Brilliant

* * *

"What will happen to Ianara?" Cordelia asked. "For shooting Wilkins, I mean?"

Dude raised his eyebrows, looking at her curiously. "Why? Should something happen to her?"

"Well, uh," Cordelia said. She looked back at him, a bit nonplussed, it seemed. "I mean, _no_! But... She _did_ shoot him down in cold blood, in front of witnesses. Isn't that murder?"

Dude nodded, looking thoughtful. "Yeah. Technically. But hell, I didn't see anything. And I'm pretty sure that you won't find anyone in that office who saw anything of the kind."

Cordelia gave him her most brilliant smile. "Softy," she said. "Soft as a marshmallow, where it counts."

"Hey, now," Dude said. "Don't get all insulting on me. I'll take your badge away."

"Sir. Yes sir, Mister Marshall Dude, sir!" Cordelia said, her voice soft and mocking. "Well, _good_. I'm not going to let that happen. I _so_ didn't spend all that time taking care of her and trying to figure out how to get us both out alive just to let some stupid judge decided she needs a rope or- or a prison cell."

"Doubt seriously you'd get 'cold blood' out of that, anyway," Vince said. He shifted a bit more comfortably and began to roll a cigarette.

Dude nodded, sipping his coffee. "She looked pretty terrified, and then pretty shocked at what happened, for all of me. And I doubt you'd get any jury to call it murder once they heard what she and you went through, even leaving out all the weird crap."

"Damn straight," Cordelia said, nodding firmly. Her expression became curious. "So... Dude Morgan, huh? What's the first name? Or is 'Dude' it?"

Xander looked up, his curiosity suddenly aroused and his attention riveted.

Dude stared at her, hard. "Not gonna ask who let that slip. Probably Wilkins," he said. "And, no. Who the hell names their kid 'Dude'?"

"So, 'Dude'," Cordelia said, "The hell is it, then? Now I'm seriously curious."

"Give it up," Xander suggested. "She'll be like a wolf with an itch it can't reach, now." Cordelia gasped, pretending shock, and leaned over to swat him.

Dude sighed. "I expect you're right about that," he said. "But – goes no farther." He glared at the few people left in the room. Everyone held hands up in surrender, or made cross their heart motions.

Everyone being, basically, him, Cordy, Dude, Vince, Giles, Glenn, and Kevin at this point. And Darlene. Vince with his bandaged leg up on a pillow stretched out on a couch, looking awfully comfortable with his head pillowed in Darlene's lap.

Speaking of, Dude raised an eyebrow at the saloon girl, and she held up her hands.

"Hey, girl in my business learns to keep a secret," Darlene said. "You wouldn't believe how much stuff we pick up about people, or what's said in front of us. And it's usually not healthy repeating any of it..." Dude nodded after a moment.

"Van. Short for Vancel," Dude said.

"_Van__c__e__l_ Morgan?" Cordelia said, her eyebrows rising. "_That's_ the big secret? But... Vancel's not so bad!"

"Hey, it was when I was a _kid_ trying to be a hard case," Dude said. "Besides, I've kind of gotten to like 'Dude' these last twenty five or so years."

"Jeeze. _Men_," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes. "All little boys at heart."

The seven of them were sprawled out in the big family room of the Marshall's Office. Xander and Cordy and Vince were drinking coffee with a splash each of Rory's good Irish Whiskey, and Dude had coffee. And a single beer, before that. Kevin and Glenn each had a tall scotch and soda. Bishop, Jules, and Finney had long since sacked out once the prisoners were settled.

"Hey, I understand," Kevin said. "I've been trying to acquire a nickname for fifteen years now."

"You mean, something other than 'hey you'?" Glenn said.

"Or if it's Cordy, then: 'oh, _you_ shut up'," Vin said. She glared at him, raising an eyebrow, and then burst out giggling. "Which gets kind of unwieldy for a nickname."

.

John T. and Elena had headed off for the hotel. Presumably, so that Chance could check under that serape... Elena seemed pretty comfortable under the big man's arm, too.

Cordelia had gotten a bath. So had Xander, helping her scrub bits of Stillwell's gunman off of her. They almost didn't come back out... Cordy was now wearing a pair of dark brown leather jeans, a red tank top, and a pale, off white doeskin shirt tied off just above her navel. Looking seriously yummy.

Once prisoners had been checked and settled in and Aaron had taken Ianara to Doc Jaansen's to be checked out, Dude had sent Chollo and Heidi along with Stein's two younger deputies to help with – and watch over – the search of Wilkins' Manor for evidence. Even with him gone, with all this, evidence was still going to be needed for the State and Federal Marshall and Ranger investigation, and the County Inquiry. Dude wanted to make sure nothing uh, went away.

Honestly? With the cold eyed Chollo and the somewhat terrifying Heidi watching every move, he kinda doubted that was gonna be a problem.

Which was kind of the point, he knew.

Before they'd headed out the door, Dude had called out, "Hey, Barrie."

Heidi turned part way back, her eyebrows going up in inquiry.

"You've got that job with me for as long as you want it."

A slow grin spread across Heidi's face. Absolutely the biggest and brightest grin that Xander had ever seen on her, in any reality.

"Really? Hey – I like that."

Before Xander could even get his mouth fully open, Dude had glared at him. "_You're_ still unemployed. Give me that badge back."

"Damn. Really whistles to be you, Boss," Heidi said, still grinning.

Grinning himself, Xander reached up to unpin the star, in preparation for flipping it back to Dude. Dude held up a hand and stopped him. "Oh, hell, Harris, I was just kidding. Don't always take me so seriously."

Xander laughed, pulling his hand away from the badge.

"Seriously on this, though. I just really don't think you're cut out for a career in law enforcement, long term." Dude said.

"Oh yeah?" Cordelia looked at him curiously. "And why not?"

Dude shrugged. "Harris is just too damned independent. And he kills too many people."

"Oh, _you're_ a fine one to talk," Cordelia said. "And you're keeping _Heidi_? Yeesh. She's a walking homicide factory. Death Incorporated."

"Aw shucks. And I thought those were one of my better qualities," Xander said. "They _are_ Heidi's."

"Oh, it is, and they are. Just not a great quality in a Deputy," Dude said, laughing. "But rest assured, I ever want something demolished, or a town depopulated, you'll be the first I telegraph." He paused, looking at the grinning girl leaning into Xander's arm. "_Chase_, on the other hand, can be a deputy any time. She'll have to quit getting captured by the bad guys, though."

"Hey! I got myself out of it _and_ arrested Finch, too!"

"You did that thing. You surely did. With a bit of help from Dewell McKay, anyway."

"That's all right," Xander said. "I'm thinking of taking up ranching for a living, anyway. Law Enforcement is a bit too stressful."

"Well, both of you hang on to those for the time being," Dude said. "They'll keep any of Wilkins cronies still left on the current City Council from getting too many ideas, and they'll help us in dealing with the out of towners when they get in."

Stein and Cobb had elected to leave things be for the moment, rather than gathering everyone up and storming the County Building to take it back. They figured that having a day or so to sit and think on everything would cause a lot of Munroe's remaining supporters to decide to cut their losses, making it a much more bloodless process.

Xander thought they were probably right. In fact, after the City Hall blew up and burned down, and seeing that _thing_ towering above it before dragging Wilkins' screaming soul down to Hell where it belonged... he'd bet privately that all except the honestly misled would probably melt away before morning.

And while he never would have thought it in _their_ Sunnydale, he'd also bet that Stein just might make a pretty good Sheriff.

This just might turn out to be a pretty decent little town, once the Hellmouth was gone...

.

"So... Think you'll have any problems when the U.S. Marshall and State Marshall get in?" Kevin asked. He still had his badge pinned to the front pocket of his black suit. As did Glenn, on the front of his denim work shirt.

Dude shrugged. "No idea," he said. "Everything was more or less legal, with you all being volunteer deputies, especially since we seem to have most of the townspeople on our side. And you can bet that if Wilkins did have anyone in the Governor's office and State Legislature in his pocket or among his cronies, they'll do what they can to cover themselves."

"And they're probably going to be crapping bricks, once they hear about this and that we have Finch in a cell," Cordelia said.

"No doubt they will," Giles said. "And no doubts that he probably had some. The influential and powerful always seem to have had a tendency to gravitate towards the darker arts in search of yet more power and influence."

Glenn shook his head, looking disgusted. "You'd think with all the advantages they already have, that'd be enough."

"Never seems to be," Dude said, shrugging. "Whatever evidence gets dug up out at Wilkins' and at Finch's place will no doubt help."

"There may, doubtless, be some evidence that you may not wish to have presented to an official inquiry, however," Giles said.

Everyone nodded. They'd all been appraised of Cordelia and Ianara's experiences with Wilkins as his captives. And no one wanted to be the one to tell a group of skeptical state or federal officers about what _really_ happened to City Hall...

"Speaking of," Dude said, looking at him curiously, "You really think you can put that thing under the Mission to rest?"

"Certainly," Giles said, nodding. "It would be different had Wilkins managed to activate it, of course. Whilst an active Hellmouth _can_ be closed or sealed, perhaps, with great difficulty, it tends to have... deleterious effects on the surrounding area."

"Deleterious?"

"Oh, massive earthquakes, volcanic activity, and suchlike," Giles said, making a negligent gesture, "Such as at Pompeii. And in San Francisco during one of its more major upheavals. O-or the Great Chicago Fire of 1871..."

"Wait – _Chicago_ had one of those things?" Dude's eyes widened, and he shook his head, looking disgusted.

"Of course," Giles said. He pulled down his glasses to look at Dude over the top of the frames. "Surely you don't believe that a _cow_ caused all of that? Please. A Wizard of the Council gave her life, as did as a number of High Watchers and a Slayer, to close that one. And that was only a _small_ activated Hellmouth. The one in Sunnydale has the potential to be exceptionally strong."

Everyone blanched at that thought.

"Why thank you, Mr. Giles," Dude said, his tone positively arid. "I know I'll sleep so much better now, knowing that."

Giles shrugged, smiling tightly. "Ignorance _can_ be bliss. Not many people _want_ to know the truth about their world. It is a main reason the Council strives for secrecy."

"Would be a shame if Finch were to get off because no one wants some of this out there," Glenn said, scowling. "There've been a lot of disappearances of young women over the years since Wilkins arrived and Finch hooked up with him."

"Yeah," Vince said. "It's a sure bet that not all of 'em were because of something like Trick, or the Gorch brothers."

Cordelia shivered. "I know that Finch seemed to have a really unhealthy anticipation for my little meeting with Wilkins' patron."

"Well, if the location of Wilkins sacrificial area, or his dumping ground can be prized out of Mr. Finch," Giles said, "Then perhaps enough remains and evidence can be obtained to make certain that he meets a rope, without the need to mention demons and other unsavory topics."

"Well, that would be nice," Dude said. "Not looking forward to trying to explain what Wilkins was. Not sure I understand what Wilkins was."

"Freaking unhinged, is what he was," Cordelia said.

"Quite. Regardless," Giles said, "We should be able to err, quiet and lock down the inactive Hellmouth here, even if it can't be completely sealed beyond any possibility of eventual activation. But sealing it even for the duration of our, or Mr. Harris' and Miss Chase's, lifetimes, will be a worthy accomplishment in and of itself."

"So, is Bianca the inactive and prospective Slayer you were sent here to watch over?" Xander asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Giles spluttered and fumbled his glasses before catching them and glaring at him. "Why, err, uh... Good Lord – you really _are_ a Council Special Operative, aren't you?" Cordelia stared at Xander, both of her eyebrows beginning to ascend to new heights.

Xander shrugged, just smiling slightly. "Maybe, maybe not."

"We are _so_ going to have a long, _long_ talk, Goof Boy," Cordelia said, shaking her head.

Sigh. At least the comment hadn't come with the 'Dreaded Whole Name Complete With Narrowed Eyes And Tapping Foot'... he shuddered. Or worse yet: the 'Ominous Punctuation of Emphasis': '_Alexander LaVelle Harris. What. _Have_. You. Been. Doing?!_'

It was coming down the line though. He was sure of it – he could see it in Cordelia's eyes. Oh well.

"Okay, so what are _you_ grinning at, Lamer?" Cordelia asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at him.

"Nothing dear," Xander said, "Really." He nodded, putting on his best serious and innocent expression. "Long talk, soonest. Check."

He was pretty sure she wasn't buying it...

.

Settling in after the bath, Xander hoisted his new acquisition from across his lap. "Lookit what Wilkins gave me, honey. Isn't it pretty?"

Cordelia shook her head, looking over and smiling. "Groovy, Ash. Now you won't have to borrow mine all the time."

"And mine is hammerless," Xander said. He raised an eyebrow. "Groovy?"

Cordelia nodded. "I found out that that movie quote thing is fun. Ask me about it later."

"Ah. I will do that."

It was a nice Sauer & Sohn drilling, like Cordelia's. Only this one was two .400 caliber barrels over a single twelve gauge, rather than a double twelve over a rifle barrel like hers. That was all right. Xander kind of preferred a rifle to a shotgun, anyway. He could probably remember the technical name for that combination if he wanted, but he didn't really care.

"A pity that Dude is confiscating all of those captured guns, except for Heidi's," Cordelia said, sticking her lower lip out.

"What, your collection there's not enough?" Vince said, a slow smile growing on his lips.

Cordelia's collection was currently spread out on the seven foot diameter varnished tree trunk section slab table in one corner. It was... impressive. Especially for someone who'd started out captured and unarmed except for two hideaway knives before going collecting.

She was currently examining her nice, elegant, new scoped single shot Stevens Model 44, with her new 1895 Winchester leaning against her armchair.

"Oh, please," she said. "It's a Harris Clan Tradition to come back with a herd of horses, a wagon load of guns, and a herd of cows."

"And bodies draped over saddles," Xander said. Cordelia leaned over and thumped him on the arm and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Well, you got the string of ponies, sure enough," Dude said. "And selling off that wagon load of guns and horses belonging to Stillwell and Maitland's hands is going to help fund this office and pay people for the next month or so until a reliable and honest City Council gets on the ball." He grinned, and added, "At least once all of us get their pick of the cream."

"I can just see Barrie now," Vince said. "She'll have so many just awful sweet new rifles she won't be able to choose."

That got laughter all around.

They'd have to wait to see if McKay was going to make it. But Chance assured them he was as tough as an old boot heel, and with the constitution of a buzzard. At least they were sure now that Brett was going to survive. And Rory had said that Tor was coming along well.

Not too many casualties, all things considered. They'd lost a few Lazy-H and Star-C hands, and around a dozen townspeople. And a lot of wounded. Doc Jaansen was working overtime.

The Doc had made Cordelia beam when he'd sent back compliments on her treatment for Ianara's blood loss. Groovy.

.

Before heading off, William Randolph Chase had called Cordelia off to the side, with Xander trailing along. If Cordy wanted privacy for this, she could say so. If she didn't, and Chase did, well... fuck him.

He didn't and she didn't, and Xander leaned unobtrusively in a doorway while they talked quietly.

"I want you to not be a stranger, Cordelia," Chase had said. "Come up to the Star-C sometime soon for an extended visit, and bring your young man. And maybe ride up with Elena, if she wants to."

Cordelia cocked her head, eying him speculatively. "That's a switch," she said. "I was under the distinct impression that the Chase family didn't have much use for the Chase bastard children. Much meaning 'none'."

William Randolph winced, and spread his hands. "I am not my older brother or my father, either of them. And I run the Star-C and Chase Holdings now. I say who is family and who isn't. You are... if you want to be."

Cordelia looked at him for a long time, and then smiled slowly. "All right. But I warn you. I'm not giving up Rory, Bethany, and Sarah. They're my real parents _here_."

Xander caught the subtle emphasis on 'here', even if Chase didn't. And _he_ at least knew what she meant.

"Well, I think I can live with that," Chase said, easily. "Especially considering that young Alexander is soon to be my nephew in law. And Rory's all right, for an uncouth barbarian – I suspect that we'll have no real problems being one big, feuding, extended family."

"Not _too_ much feuding."

Chase shook his head, grinning. "Oh, _hell_ no. Rory Harris is way too good and way too fast with a Winchester and those Remingtons for my comfort."

.

Xander had expected to suddenly find them fading out and waking up on the couch at Cordelia's house, once Wilkins had been put paid to. So had she, she'd confided during the bath. When it _didn't_ happen, they looked at each other, and shrugged.

Cordelia seemed pretty comfortable with that.

Of course, Cordelia had already stated at least once that she didn't have any real issues with staying in this world and time if it worked out that way. Personally, Xander gave that until about the first time she had a toothache or fully realized what childbirth without modern, late twentieth century medicine meant...

For himself? As he'd told her once recently, he'd already decided: _Home_ was where _Cordelia_ was. Turn of the century or the late, late Twentieth; their world or the Wild Wild West That Never Was.

He felt as if he'd hit upon a profound truth maybe at a lot earlier of an age than a lot of guys: home is where _she_ is, whether that's a mansion or a dirt floored hovel. Doesn't matter. And where she _isn't_... is no place at all.

Always assuming you manage to find the right 'she'. And that she wants you back.

He kind of figured he had. And that she maybe kind of did.

Of course, it had only taken them almost thirteen years, a lot of miles and death, and a change of worlds to figure that out. Xander thought _he_ should have way back when he was five and they'd first met right after she'd accidentally broken Willow's crayon. And then had scrunched up her nose at him and informed him that he _had_ to be an _Alex_ because 'Xander' was a stupid name.

They'd argued and fought over that for three years, until the beginning of third grade, when they'd found other things to fight over. Never should have happened...

Oh well. His dad had always said he was kind of slow in some areas.

.

Speaking of family, Rory had already taken off for the Sunnydale Arms by then, planning to head back to the Lazy-H in the morning. But not before he'd thrown an arm around Xander's shoulders and looked down at him sternly and said, "You are gonna make an honest woman out of that girl soon now, aren't you?"

"She's already way too honest, sir," Xander said. "But I am planning to marry her, if that's what you mean." Cordelia's eyebrows lifted, and he winked at her. "I'm thinking an October the thirty-first wedding. Seems appropriate, and it'll give Vin time to heal up real good, since he's going to be best man. And Dewell, so he can be there as well."

Vince smiled slowly. "Well, as long as I get asked, anyway. A boy likes to be asked."

A brightly smiling Cordelia noticed all of the interested attention they were suddenly getting, and turned that thousand watt smile on John T. "Which means _Chance_ there is going to have to stay around for a while," she said. "Considering that he'll be giving the bride away."

Elena laughed at John T.'s pole-axed expression. "I think that means he'll be happy to."

"Well, hell, Little Missy," John T. said, a slow smile breaking across that craggy face. "I think I'd be purely honored. But shouldn't Hoss here have first claim on that?" He gestured to Rory with his whiskey glass.

"Rory will understand," Cordelia said. "He has daughters of his own to marry off."

"I surely do," Rory said. "And a real dearth of suitable husband material around. Might have to send off for some of them mail order fiancees."

"Hell," John T. drawled, putting an arm around Elena. "Might even make it a double wedding, and I can find a suitable girl."

"I am already an honest woman, John," Elena said. "I don't need a ring to prove it."

"Well, maybe _**I**_ do, you ever think about that?"

.

"So, the Maitland kid is going to hang, probably," Cordelia said, sighing.

"Most likely," Dude said, "Maybe. Him being willing to take one hell of a major risk to help shut down his old man, Stillwell, and Wilkins, and to help make up for his part in Brett's shooting and Melody Kendall's death should count for something."

"Did take a lot of guts," Xander said.

"Hah. And for a long while, I _so_ thought I was _wearing_ part of them," Cordelia said. She scrunched her nose up. "Eww."

"Even if not, probably be a short stretch in prison, anyway," Vince said. "What's left of Wilkins cronies will want someone to fall, and if they can't have us..."

Kevin nodded. "I'd keep a close eye on Finch, Dude. Be a shame for him to eat a bullet before he can stand trial in Sacramento."

"Oh, gods," Cordelia said. "I _so_ thought we were _done_ with hiding out here and getting shot at."

"We are," Dude said, smiling. "With Maitland and Stillwell gone, and all of the professionals out of play excepting _us_, there's no one left that has what it takes for straight up gunplay."

"Oh. Well, good," Cordelia said.

"Might be just as well on that, too," Dude said. "I'm thinking the days of wild and loose gunslinging law like John T. and I spent most of our lives practicing, off and on, are coming to an end."

"Too bad," Cordelia said. "And in a way, maybe, kind of good, too." When everyone looked at her, she shrugged and said, "Not a lot of men like you and John T. left. And Vin, and Kev, and Glenn, either. And there's so a lot of people that you _don't_ want playing free and fancy with a badge, because they can't be trusted with _any_ kind of power."

"Then they shouldn't have the badge," Vince said.

"Or the judgment calls," Xander said. "But they will." He quietly sipped at his semi Irish Coffee, smiling slightly.

Privately, he didn't think it'd be that easy, or that simple. He could pull a dozen names from his real Uncle Rory's collection, names like Tom Threepersons, Eliot Ness, Bill Jordan, Skelton, and others, that had done the wild and loose law thing pretty well even into the late Twentieth. He didn't think it was going away any time soon.

And maybe that was ok, too.

But... he did have a hard time seeing Dude, John T. Chance, and Vin fitting into the overly civilized California that he and Cordy had grown up in. Probably a good thing they wouldn't make it there.

He kind of doubted that they'd like _it_, any more than it would like _them_.

SoCal, and the Wild Wild East, had always kind of liked their rough and tumble and fiercely independent heroes up on the Silver Screen where they belonged. They made people nervous when they were out walking around in reality, bigger than life and twice as rough hewn. And twice as honest...

Maybe it was just as well, too, in other areas.

Somehow, he didn't think him and Cordelia would fit in back in twenty-first century America real well any more, either.

As if she was reading his mind, Cordelia suddenly yawned right about at the same time he did. They exchanged looks, grinning.

"And on _that_ note, I so think I'm done," she said.

"Or done in, yup," Xander said.

Cordelia looked at him, seriously, nibbling at her lower lip. "I do hope you're not really set on much of anything, Goof. I'm so exhausted I think I'll just barely make it to the hotel to see if Haversham has a room for us."

"I'll manage," Xander said. "I'm kind of easy that way. Besides, you can lean on me now."

"I noticed."

That smile was just as bright as the sun.

* * *

.


	38. To Wake, Perchance From Dreams -

**Epilogue I: ****To Wake, Perchance From Dreams...**

* * *

"_For some strange reason, no matter where I go, the place is always called __'__here__'__.__"_ ― Ashleigh Brilliant

* * *

_Saturday, July 18, 1998 – Morning:_

Huh? He was in bed?

Damn. How did _that_ happen? Last he remembered, he'd been falling asleep at the Sunnydale Arms and –

Wait. Rewind there a minute, bud. Sunnydale Arms? Where the _hell_ did that come from? The last thing that he remembered, him and Cordelia were sitting back to watch Rio Blanco on her parent's big screen TV. And preparing for another hot make–

Oh, crap. Xander's eyes slitted open. He was lying in Cordelia's bed? As in, _Cordelia Chase_ Cordelia? That one?

Oh, holy mother of Zeus. He was naked, too. Naked in Cordelia Chase's _bed_... Xander closed his eyes again. He _definitely_ didn't want to lose this dream while he was having it.

Wait, this was a dream? No way. His dreams were _never_ this realistic. Not even the sex dreams... His eyes flew open again, and his hand slowly and carefully eased over across his chest. And touched an arm. And then a shoulder And then long, wavy hair. And then –

Great Mothering Sheba. There was a naked _girl_ lying half onto his chest. Kind of sprawled there, one arm on his chest and her hand on his right shoulder upper body across his with her, uh, breast pressed into him, and one long leg thrown possessively over his.

He looked down. Wow. Long chestnut hair. Nice tan. Nice bit of side boob. Rosary tattoo around that wrist... And a really cute sun-moon thingy tatt–

– He was in _bed_ with a naked Cordelia _Chase_.

The term 'morning wood' suddenly took on entirely new dimensions. As did his morning wood...

Cordelia shifted slightly, with a little groan, and her inner thigh rubbed across his, uh, yeah. _Nnngg!_ Her lips curled up into a slight smile, and she made little lip smacking sounds as she settled deeper into him. And onto him...

Ok. Wait. There had to be a rational explanation for this. Xander meant _other_ than Cordelia dragging him into her bedroom last night and screwing his brains out. Which, basically, was what his memory kept _insisting_ had happened.

_'Good __L__ord and all the gods,'_ that Still Small voice in the back of his mind said, _'Pop was right. You _are_ seriously slow in some areas.'_

Oh, he was not. Uh... ok, so maybe he was. So what?

_'Think about it, dumb ass,'_ Still Small said. _'I know that's hard, but give it a shot__ – __it may actually work.'_

Xander did his level best to ignore the little under the mind's breath comment to the effect of _'It's a long shot, but who knows?'_ and did just that. Thought about it.

OK. So, yesterday had been the seventeenth, meaning it was _now_ July the _Eigh__t_eenth, in the morning. Saturday. Nineteen ninety-eight. And Cordelia's parents had been out of town on some business trip or retreat or something since Wednesday, and weren't due back until Tuesday. Meaning that they had the run of the house more or less to themselves...

Actually, pretty much to themselves. The housekeeper and Consuela the maid had long been turning a wink and a blind eye to Xander's habit of coming over to stay for a few days since, oh, a long while now. They actually liked him, even if Cordelia's mother detested his guts. And they thought it was cute...

So. Friday, uh, no _Saturday_ morning, they had the whole four day weekend ahead of them, Jesse, Wendie, and Aura were due ov–

Brain freeze. No. Total brain meltdown.

Jesse? _Jesse? _Jesse, Wendie, and _Aura_?

Holy blithering fuck. _It __all __really happened_...

_All_ of it. Xander found that his eyes had squeezed tightly shut again at some point. He groaned.

Cordelia smacked her lips again, groaned herself, and shifted. She opened her eyes sleepily and looked up at him, barely raising her head.

"What's the matter? It so _can't_ be time to get up yet," she said.

Her eyes flew wide open, and her mouth dropped. She sat bolt upright. "Wait, _Xander? _The _Hell?_"

Xander couldn't have answered that if he'd wanted to. His eyes were riveted to the tantalizing, jiggling, pair of large, luscious brown eyes bobbing and staring at him.

Uh. Wait. Those weren't eyes.

"Oh, jeeze, Dork. They're _tits_. Get over it. You've _seen_ my tits before. Ok, not _often_, but... ok, maybe way _too_ often, but – _hey! _ I'm _talking_ to you up here!" Cordelia's voice was growing more and more exasperated. She gasped suddenly. "Oh. My. Gods. Did we have _sex?_"

There was a rising note of panic in her voice with each word.

Xander made a herculean effort and managed to wrench his gaze from those luscious nipples and wonderful aureoles, and up to meet her eyes. Her real eyes. The gorgeous hazel ones that were suddenly way, way too big for anyone who wasn't an anime character.

"_Cordy_," Xander managed to croak out, in a kind of a strangled voice –

"Don't you Cordy _me_!" Cordelia yelled, thumping him a good, solid one upside the head. "You _slept_ with me!"

"_Cordy__!_" Xander tried again...

"_Don't_ yell at me!" Cordelia said, her eyes still huge. "You _slept with me!_"

"Well, _you_ slept with _me!_"

"I did _not!_" she yelled back, apparently _completely_ oblivious to how idiotic that sounded in context...

With yet another Herculean effort, Xander managed to bite back and swallow the "Did too!" that would have started them off on yet another rerun of the Xander and Cordy show, and drew in a deep shuddering breath –

Okay. So they hadn't _planned_ on having sex yet, at least not until Homecoming. And yeah, that was a big deal... both of them were virgins, and _sex_ was as big a deal to teenage _girls_ as it was to teenage _guys_, maybe even more so. _So_ –

Cordelia had one elegantly manicured, red finger nailed hand over her open mouth, and her eyes were _huge_. "I can't _believe_ that you _slept_ with me!"

"Gee. You're really fixated on that, huh?"

"Well, _yeah – _because you _slept with me!_ Jerk!" The wide eyed look began to turn into a wide eyed glare. "Or doesn't the phrase 'we were going to wait' _mean_ anything to you?"

"_Cordy_," Xander managed to croak out again, still sounding strangled. He got his hands up and took hold of both of hers, bringing them down and clasping them in his larger ones. "I really, _really_ need you to listen to me. Okay?"

For a wonder, she didn't resist his hand holding, and she nodded, her eyes still big and wide.

"It's July the 18th, Cordy. Saturday. Morning."

"Well, duh!" she said, a bit angrily. She tried to yank her hands away. He didn't let her. "And my parents are gone and won't be back until _Tuesday_. Very good! Want a Scooby snack now?"

"_Cordy_," he said, in only a slightly less strangled voice than before. She _had_ to listen to him. And, hopefully, _not_ freak out.

Or not have him committed... a very real possibility, he suddenly realized.

"It's Saturday, July the _Eigh__t_eenth, and later on, Jesse and Wendie are coming over after lunch with Aura so we can all go to the Palisades."

"Well, yeah, and duh! _A__gain_," Cordelia said, tossing her hair and starting to sound a bit annoyed. "And we're in bed together and I'm Cordelia and you're Xander _and you __slept__ with me!_"

Ok. So Cordy seemed to be laser focused in on the important thing here. Except it really _wasn't_, and he couldn't _believe_ he'd _actually_ just thought that about _sex_.

"_Jesse_, Cordy," he said, almost desperately. "_McNally_."

"Yeah, and? So, what, have you suddenly gone deficient or something? _Again?_" Cordelia scowled down at him. At least she wasn't trying to yank her hands away again. "He's been dating Wendie ever since – " her eyes got even wider. "And oh my God Jesse is freaking _dead!_ Or like, was. Or..."

"Yeah. _Now_ you're cooking," Xander said. "_Cor__d__y_. It really freaking happened. _All of it_."

"Wait, what... ?" he saw the moment when it hit her and it all came crashing in. Impact. Major memory dump in three... two... one... and liftoff!

"Oh. My. God."

Yeppers. We now have total freak out. Houston? We have ignition.

Hey. She seemed to be taking this rather well, all things considered.

* * *

For someone who'd been sure she was way too dead tired and exhausted for anything, once they'd gotten upstairs to their room, undressed and fell into bed, it hadn't taken too long for it to start being clear that Cordelia was developing other ideas.

Ideas he could always be counted on to go along with wholeheartedly, as well as whole other partedly.

Maybe she wasn't _that_ tired after all.

She'd been lying half across his chest, head tucked under his chin, one hand playing idly with his chest hair, and a long tanned thigh thrown over his upper thighs. And apparently for all of him, slowly drifting off into a contented sleep. Smiling slightly.

Then that soft inner thigh had begun rubbing over and along him, slowly and lightly... it didn't take long for her to get a major reaction. Things suddenly came up. _Very_ up.

Cordelia smiled like a lazy cat, and worked her hips up and on top of his. And slowly, with a lot of shifting and seriously pleasurable rubbing and false starts, got herself where she wanted, and –

– And suddenly he was surrounded by hot wet Cordelia Chase. Oh, gods...

He looked up into those half lidded hazel eyes, and her smile turned suddenly wicked. "So... " Xander said. "I thought you were too tired for sex?"

"Oh, I dunno," she said. "Must be all those guns making me horny."

"Yup. Must be it."

Slowly and excruciatingly, lying full length along him, her hips straddling him with him seated deeply, and moving nothing but her hips and undulating lower body – she slowly worked both of them up and over until they were gone and he melted into her.

Or maybe she melted into him.

He found that at some point, he no longer knew or cared where _he_ left off, and _she_ began. If they even did.

Just didn't matter.

* * *

They came awake the first time dressed and seated in a huge example of the most comfortable reclining arm chair he'd ever sat in his life. Both of them, Cordelia snuggled in next to and alongside of him, one of his arms around her, and one of her hands holding his.

Dressed as they'd been at Cordy's house before they showed up on horseback on a hillside. Cordelia braless in her red bandana top thing, and her stretchy little short skirt and strappy red sandals. Xander wearing a pair of dark cargo pants, running shoes, and one of his least objectionable – to Cordy, anyway – Hawaiian shirts open over a dark green Mountain t-shirt with a gunfighter on it.

They were seated in a large, elegantly appointed gun and game room before a lit fireplace. Game heads were along one wall, and there was a large, seriously nice collection of custom firearms and blades on the other, with framed Remington prints between the sets. No – paintings. Originals, not _prints_.

There was a tall, broad shouldered, handsome and bearded man sitting across from them. He had a seriously nice, comfortable looking leather arm chair of his own. He was wearing clothing similar to theirs... actually, closer to what Dude had been wearing. Blue shirt, black leather vest, and dark jeans. No Marshall's star, though.

There was a low, dark wood coffee table between their chairs, with a decanter of whiskey, several glasses, and a carafe of coffee and several cups. Along with a bottle of soda and a tray with a wide variety of snacks and hors d'oevoures.

Or orderves. He always managed to mangle the French word. And there were fruits of various types, and things to go with, and small squares of fudge, white, light, and dark chocolate...

"Coffee? Or perhaps whiskey or brandy?" their apparent host said. He had a deep, rich, and melodious voice that sounded like silk and chocolate. "There's also tea, if you'd prefer."

Xander glanced down, and sure enough, there was an elegant looking silver tea service and tray, with cups and a large array of those little cookies Giles liked. He was pretty sure there wasn't before, but what the hey – dream reality.

"No. Not a dream," their host said.

"_Oh_-kay," Cordelia said. "If it's _not_ a dream, then who are you and where the hell are we? And, hey – even if it _is_ a dream, then who are you and where the hell are we?"

"Direct. And unafraid. I like that," the bearded man said. "All right. You've never met me, but you know of me. Your paramour _has_ met me, in a matter of speaking," he stated. "_He_ knows of me as Janus."

"Uh... wait," Xander said. He blinked. "Shouldn't you be all, like, with the two faces and whatever? And like, nine feet tall or something?"

"Consider this a form you can be comfortable with," Janus said, smiling. "And myself, for that matter. I find it seriously difficult to speak with screaming humans who think they're faced with a giant, multi-faced, multi-headed humanoid abomination."

Xander just had to grin at that. Made perfect sense.

"Besides, that's really not my true form, anyway," Janus said. "That's just a meaningful representation the Greeks and the Romans chose for depicting me, along with being representative of what they saw as my attributes."

"Wait – " Cordelia sat up. She didn't let go of Xander's hand, just switched which one she was holding it with. "So, like, you're responsible for all this? Or, more like, to _blame?_"

"No. And yes. Sort of," Janus said. "And, no, not really."

"But yes, kinda, huh," Cordelia said. She snorted indelicately, tossing her hair. "And _so_ typical. Why can't one of you supernatural creeps _ever_ give a straight answer to a simple freaking _question_?"

"Hah!" Janus threw back his head, laughing. He winked at Xander, and said, "I can see why you've been in love with her since you were five or six. She's something else."

"Thanks, and yes, I am," Cordelia said. She flashed a grin over her shoulder at Xander. "And, wait – you have? No, never mind that – " she held her free hand up. "Just answer the damned question, you."

"Ok, I will," Janus said. "But, please, help yourself – no need to let all this go to waste."

Cordelia looked at the table and its contents a bit dubiously. She leaned forward and reached for the carafe, and then hesitated, scowling and looked up at him. "Oh no, I've heard about this. And then a hundred years go by and we wake up with long white beards and everyone we know is dead. No thanks."

"Hah!" Janus laughed, and shook his head. "No, but thank you for playing. Seriously. It's _just_ food and drink. _Mortal_ food and drink, and it's _excellent_. For one: this isn't faerie – that's three stars down and straight back from yesterday. And for two: I'm not going to offer you nectar and ambrosia, and waters of the Hippocrene, at least not without warning you and telling you the effects and consequences first."

Cordelia frowned still, and then gave a little shrug and picked up the carafe and poured a cup from it, and took a gingerly sip. Wow. It was a thick, glazed, earthenware mug, and just the right size for a perfect cup of coffee. And then her face went surprised, and her expression nearly ecstatic.

Xander wasn't about to let his girlfriend go without him. Whatever happened to her, happened to him too. He took a cup, and picked up a couple of the little tea cookies. And had the same reaction that Cordelia's face had showed... It was _coffee__ – _like a blend of Jamaican Blue Mountain and Kenya AA that apparently _tasted_ like fresh brewed coffee _smelled_. With just a tiny hint of chocolate... Xander added just a small splash of Irish whiskey to his. Perfect.

"Why?" Xander said, raising an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Ok. Or, why _not_? Why not trick us into drinking the Food of the Gods and all that?"

"Mostly because I'm not an asshole, unlike some of my contemporaries," Janus said, "And because mortals really don't deal well with immortality and godlike powers. Not, at least, without a lot of preparation that you haven't had yet. 'Causes all kinds of trouble, and it's one of the reasons we all agreed to pull back and quit interfering with you guys on a casual basis."

"So, what. You now just interfere with us on a what, not so casual basis?" Cordelia said, settling back in against Xander with her cup, and a bowl of strawberries and chocolate.

"Only when specifically asked. And only within a few rather... strict guidelines. Guidelines that some of us adhere to more than others. Ok." Janus shrugged. "Mostly when you can't get a straight answer it's because the majority of us are addicted to confusing mortals with cryptic and contradictory sounding bullshit. And a lot of us wouldn't know a straight answer if it bit them on the dick," he said. Cordelia laughed, as did Xander. "But in this case, it's because it really _is_ yes and no."

"Ok, so you're going to have to explain that," Xander said, "Before my girlfriend has a flaming meltdown on us."

Cordelia thumped him solidly on the leg, and he grinned at her.

Janus grinned at them both. "All right. As simply put as possible, a certain Chaos Mage of your acquaintance – "

"Ethan fucking _Rayne_," they both said, looking at each other.

"– Exactly," Janus said. "Rayne cast a doorway and transition spell upon the video tape that you were watching earlier. Or later... time is kind of fluid here. And it _would_ have transitioned you into the world of Rio Blanco, with almost certainly deleterious effects on your health and longevity."

"'Almost certainly deleterious'?" Xander smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You've been taking lessons from Giles?"

Janus arched an eyebrow in return. "Should I put it in baby talk?"

Xander was saved from his own response by a frowning Cordelia... "Wait, huh? _Would_ have?" Cordelia said, blinking. "But it _did_. We _did_ end up in Movie Land."

"Not exactly. I intervened," Janus stated. "Somewhat anyway. _Just_ enough to give Ethan a major case of what he likes to dish out: be careful what you ask for."

"Oh-kay... " Xander said. He looked blankly at Cordelia, who scowled back at him over her shoulder.

"Simply put, or as simply as it can be put, there is a near infinity of world lines existing in the Sea of Dreams. And your particular world line is not all that far from the cinematic western line that Ethan wished to send you to, and any number of variations on that theme."

"Ok, so... " Cordelia frowned, "You mean there really _is_ a world out there where Dude, John T. Chance, and Elena faced off against a bunch of thugs in a town named Rio Blanco."

"And a world where that movie is only a sequel idea that never got a green light, and never even got to script stage," Janus said, nodding. "And worlds where you and Alexander never saw it. And a near infinity of worlds where the two of you are fictional characters... "

"Wait, stop!" Cordelia held her hand up. "My brain is starting to hurt." Xander nodded, a bit numbly. His was and had been also. And he was even a lot more familiar with the concept of alternate realities and multiple dimensions than Cordy was.

Hey. All of those comic books and all of that sci-fi reading _had_ to come in handy for something...

"Of course," Janus said, nodding. "Suffice it to say... that it wasn't all that difficult to merge a number of those together, along with Sunnydale and your world line of the late 19th century, and come up with the one that Ethan did send you to. And even simpler – for me at least – to enhance your existing skills and attributes, and give you both the appropriate skill sets that you'd need to not only survive, but to thrive there. And the background and information and history that you'd need to make use of all of that."

"Wait - " Xander said. "So you were Little Info Dump Guy and Girl, as well as The Scriptwriter?"

"In a manner of speaking," Janus said, smiling. "Actually, once you were there and everything was prepared and in motion, there _was_ no Scriptwriter. No need for one: you and everyone else wrote your _own_ scripts. And you did marvelously at acting upon them. As for Info Dump Guy and Gal, I merely split off a microscopic fraction of my own Intellectus and gave it to you. You can keep it, by the way," he added, magnanimously.

Xander blinked, and was aware of Cordelia doing the same next to him, as little factoids clicked into place around that. Intellectus. Pure, undiluted, and nearly universal knowledge. The ability to just _know_ things, by _thinking_ about them, and suddenly have the information just flow through you. And now with the new and improved past lives enhancement...

And apparently, in his and Cordy's case, near universal knowledge from a very limited and _specific_ sort of data pool: the lives of their other selves in Rio Blanco World, and all of the information and data required by and pertinent to growing up on a ranch in the 1880's, and on being a shootist and a gunfighter.

And _also _apparently, Still Small and Very Smart Ass voice in the back of his head was _his_, not a gift or curse from Janus.

"Gee, thanks. And... Ok, sooo... and I am _so_ really _trying_ to wrap my head around this," Cordelia said. "There really was an _us there _and an _us here_? And us _there_ grew up in that world, with Rory and Elena as godparents, while us _here_ grew up in this one?"

"Exactly."

Cordelia squealed and bounced in the chair next to Xander. "I was _right_! _Yes!_ And we smerged together with us there and became, uh, _us both_!?"

"Exactly." Janus beamed at her.

"Oh, I do so rock!" Cordelia said. Xander couldn't help but laugh at – and with – her enthusiasm.

"You seriously do, Honey." Xander frowned suddenly, thinking. "Ok, but, wait. If that's so, then what happened to us there?"

"Nothing. They still exist. You still exist." Seeing their blank and dubious expressions, Janus sighed. "You didn't just take over you there's bodies and destroy them or anything. You... became _yourselves_. Only, _more_ you. You there and you here, are _you_." He scowled, and said, "It's metaphysical. And complicated. Take my word for it."

"Meaning you don't understand it either," Cordelia said, her voice wry and one eyebrow raised.

"Well, yeah. And no. I do, but _explaining_ it is seriously difficult, even for me." Janus sighed again, "And _not_ because of some overbearing crap that 'you can't understand because it's beyond your mortal mind's grasp' or any such shite. It's because it is _really_ complex, and _you_ two don't have the physics or the metaphysics background and knowledge. Steven Hawking or Carl Sagan would get it in a snap. So would Robert Heinlein, albeit on a different level and from a different perspective."

Janus snapped his fingers for emphasis.

"Let's say I'll buy that for a dollar," Xander said. "Or whatever inflation puts it at now. When you say our world line is not all that far from there, you mean... ?"

"Simple," Janus said. "It isn't. Look," he looked at Cordelia, "Your great great grandmother, in your original reality, was Audra Barkley, right?"

"Right." Cordelia said, frowning. "Audra Barkley-Chase, of the Stockton Barkleys. She married William Randolph Chase the First, and had several kids, including my great grandfather, Morgan Stanley."

"Right. And Audra Barkley is a fictional character on a Western television series called 'Big Valley'," Janus said.

"Huh. Big wha?" Xander said, blinking.

"Exactly. Because in _your_ world line, it _isn't_. It's _history_. You're _already_ living in a cinematic world line."

"Stop! Brain so _really_ hurts now," Cordelia said, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'll take your word for it. Just... stop it."

"Captain, she canna take much more 'o this – she's gonna blow!" Xander said in a thick, fake Scottish brogue. He changed his voice slightly to a deeper pitch, and added, "But, Scotty, I like that, in a girl."

_Thwap! _Cordelia belted him a good solid one, fortunately nowhere damaging, and Xander nearly fell out of the chair laughing.

"Jerk! Pig." Xander held up hand in surrender, still laughing. Ok, so his Shatner impression needed work...

"Yeah, gotta go with Cordy on that. I'll digest all of this later," Xander said, getting himself under control, finally. "So, now, for the sixty-four _zillion_ dollars, _why_ intervene?"

"What Doofus said," Cordelia said. "Why?"

"Because Ethan Rayne likes to forget that I am _not_ a god of Chaos. And because I truly detest the various Powers that were placed in oversight on all of your various world lines once us gods withdrew from daily interaction with mortal affairs, and I detest the things that they are about. And, because I seriously detest Richard Wilkins the First, Second, and Third and saw a really nifty way to poke him and my errant devotee in the eye with a sharp stick at the same time." Janus grinned, and said, "And best of all, no one can say boo to me about it, or about how I went about it, or over who's and what's plans it wrecked, because Ethan and Wilkins called upon me _knowingly_."

"Snerk. Oh, that is a truly nasty and malevolent smile," Cordelia said. "I like it."

Xander nodded, grinning as well. "Even if it is gained at our expense."

"Ah. Expense, schmensh. You both survived it and handled it superbly." Janus' eyes narrowed, and he added, "And do keep in mind: Rayne and Wilkins wanted you both _dead_, not triumphant."

Cordelia's mouth opened. She shut it and swallowed hard, before finally saying, "But _why_, for God's sake? Why _us_?"

"Because Rayne is a mercenary and an amoral dickhead, and because Wilkins had plans that he saw you as being in a position to threaten if left unchecked. Simple as that." Janus frowned slightly, and shrugged, adding, "And because Wilkins saw the two of you as being the linchpin – and fracture point – to your little group of demon hunters."

"Wait – " Cordelia frowned and held up a hand, beating Xander to it by moments... "_Us?_ What about Giles and the others?"

Janus shrugged again. "A Watcher more than distracted to near uselessness by searching for his lost Slayer? And a barely manifested witch who tends to not yet like taking charge? And her werewolf boyfriend who tends to do what Willow wants and follow her lead? Please," Janus inclined his head toward Xander, "_He_ was the visible leadership, inspiration, and motivator behind taking over the slaying efforts once Summers pulled her disappearing act."

"And Cordy?" Xander's eyebrows went up.

"Would have been furious and inspired to become a _thorough_ pain in Wilkins' butt were you to have suddenly vanished mysteriously, or had you been murdered."

Xander gave his girlfriend a slightly astonished look, to see her nodding with narrowed eyes and a set jaw... Cordelia caught his glance, and shrugged.

"And with her determination and her and her family's resources? A _dangerous_ pain in the ass, once aroused." Janus shrugged again, "Remove the two of you, preferably mysteriously, and the group falls apart. And then the others fall prey to the natural hazards of the Hellmouth in short order, with no Slayer to protect them... "

Swallowing hard, Xander shook his head, closing his eyes briefly. "And I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that... you didn't like Wilkins' plans, huh," he said.

"No. I did not. Nor did I like the any of the plans of those self styled Powers there." Janus smiled thinly. "And now they've died aborning, all of them. A rather neat solution, and I do say so myself."

"Oh, wait – so Wilkins _was_ our Wilkins? _And_ his daddy?" When Janus nodded, Cordelia bounced again. "Yes! And she scores _twice!_"

"Which means that Wilkins plans are... "

"As defunct as Wilkins, yes," Janus said, nodding. "And, nicely done. Ianara, or Ampata as you knew her, doing him in was a sweet touch."

"It would have been safer and simpler all around for Wilkins to just shoot us dead," Cordelia said, "In _both_ realities."

Janus nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Fortunate that your type of bad guys tend to over complicate things, huh?"

"Ok, so why the little discussion meet and debriefing here?" Xander said. "Why not just send us back without any info or memory of it?"

"Call it... an innate sense of fair play, mayhap. I'm not a complete and total jerkoff like some of my contemporaries. Or at least I like to think I'm not."

"Oh, yeah?" Cordelia scowled. "If you're _not_ a dickhead, and you're not a chaos god, then why even answer Rayne? Why not just let him dangle wondering why his spell didn't work?"

Janus shrugged. "I'd say metaphysics again, but you'd probably belt me one. And I'd deserve it." He grinned, and Cordelia couldn't help but grin back – it was _that_ engaging and mischievous of a grin. "A part and parcel of having a polytheistic metaphysical setup. Ethan is a worshiper and devotee of Chaos, and of Tiamat, who's not one of ours really, except she's kind of an immigrant. And when a worshiper calls, even if he's not specifically one of _yours_, you answer, because you'd want Chaos or Tiamat to fill in for you if one of _yours_ called on _them_. It's kind of the neighborly thing to do, and it's also a part of the web of connection and obligation that makes the whole thing work, and keeps us from feuding like six year old brats _all_ of the time."

"Instead, you just do it part of the time," Xander said, his voice dry. "I know a _little_ of my mythology."

"Well, yeah," Janus gave that engaging grin again. "Some of us _are_ six year old brats, only with enormous powers and the egos to go with them. And some of us just flat-out can't stand each other, like Hera and Herakles."

"And you do, like, _what_, exactly?" Cordelia said, frowning slightly.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Janus said. "My dominion is _change_, mostly. And to a lesser extent, hearth and home. Change and transformation; doors, gateways, thresholds, and crossroads; birth and death – both of which are transformations; beginnings and endings; future and _past_ – hence your recent experiences – youth and maturity; love... because that's the biggest transformation of all; inner and outer; and oh... "

"Chewy and crunchy, chocolate in my peanut butter... " Xander said.

"Vanilla and chocolate; Gucci and Salvation Army," Cordelia added, giving him a mischievous sidelong glance.

"Exactly," Janus said, laughing. "I like the two of you, I really do. In all of the world lines in which your set of personae exist, the two of you are very nearly unique. Always have been, in all of your myriad incarnations and reflections."

"How so?" Cordelia poured herself another coffee, this one with a splash of brandy.

"Well, your mate here is a walking chaos generator. And you are one of the very few people who exist that can't be intimidated. By anything or anyone."

"Oh, please. I'm intimidated all the _time_. I just don't _show_ it, most of the time."

"No. You are _not_," Janus said. "Not in the way that most understand the word. You get scared, sure. Who doesn't? But you bounce back and it doesn't stop you. You'll look a god or a demon in the eye and _dare_ them not to back down. Or, oh, act terrified and slice an enormously powerful dark mage across the eye with a hidden knife, _knowing_ you're going to die for it. And not _caring_, so long as you can take him with."

"That's my girl," Xander said, nodding. "All guts, _and_ beauty and brains."

"And you," Janus said, looking at Xander. He poured himself a large whiskey, and sipped at it. "You unravel the warp and woof of the weaving just by existing. Breaker of Prophecies. Wrecker of destinies. Unraveler of fates. You're the _last_ person that idiot chaos mage should have touched with chaos." He smiled, and added, "And you're connected, both of you, in a way that few are. Always have been, from the very first time you set eyes on each other. You and that Willow girl come close, Xander, just... not quite."

"What, like, soul mates?" Xander said, a bit skeptically.

"Naw. Just... mates. Of the forever and a day kind. None of that soul mates and great, tragic love crap. You're the real thing: two halves of a whole. Apart, you're each a force to be reckoned with. Together... you're a lot more than the sum of yourselves."

"So, what now?" Cordelia said. Janus raised an eyebrow, and she narrowed her eyes at him, and said, "You didn't put us there, and then pull us here just to shoot the breeze, bucko. Or because you're really a nice warm and fuzzy guy under it all. You so want something. Or need something. Spill."

"See what I mean?" Janus said to Xander. "Ok." He turned his attention on Cordelia... and just for a moment, he seemed to swell and grow, and she got just a glimpse of what he was, and what that entailed. And then it was gone, and there was just a handsome and bearded man sitting across from her again.

"You did a great and difficult service for a greater _g__od_," Janus said, "And as tradition and metaphysics demand, you now get a choice. And a reward. And, because I'm not a cold and nasty guy under it all, your choice and your reward is _not_ going to turn around and bite you in the ass, kiddo. Good enough?"

"Uh," Cordelia gulped, and found herself nodding. "Good enough. Sir."

"And knock that _sir_ crap off," Janus said, scowling. "I'd say that 'sir' is my dad, but I don't really have one."

"Yessir," they both said, simultaneously.

"Brats," he said, affectionately. "And as I said, choices and rewards time."

"Send us back," Xander and Cordelia said, simultaneously. They glared at each other, and, "Or let us stay there," they said, doing it again. Cordelia huffed at him and blew hair from her eyes.

"Can't," Janus said. Cordelia scowled at him, and he held up a hand. "You've already made that choice. You just don't recall it consciously as of yet. But if you concentrate on it, you'll know that that's true."

Xander did, opening his mouth to object, and suddenly realized... it was true. He didn't remember doing it, but there was a bone deep knowledge that they had made a choice, and it wasn't to stay with Dude, Rory, and the others... next to him, he could see Cordelia arriving at the same realization, and she didn't look happy about it.

"Crap. All right, then," Cordelia said, "And, so, what's the reward? And the choice? We get two choices, then?"

Janus nodded, those hazel green eyes suddenly serious. "More or less. All right. You can choose to go, well... not back to where and whence you came, because that where and when doesn't _exist_ any more, not in the form in which you left it. Your actions there and then _changed_ the there and now. Wilkins died, and Reginald Giles rendered the Sunnydale Hellmouth inactive for a period of, oh, around three centuries or so. So the Sunnydale you grew up in, doesn't exist any longer. You grew up in a _different_ Sunnydale, and a whole different world."

"One where all of the heroes and legends we knew as a child, _didn't_ go into Arden to play," Xander said, quoting a Styx song he'd always liked as a kid. "They became... history?"

"History, yup," Janus said. "A lot of things did stay the same, or similar. You'll get the memory dump from your little bit of Intellectus if you decide to return to your world line and time."

"And the stick, to go with the carrot?" Cordelia said.

"Are you sure that it's not the carrot to go with the stick of your returning?" Janus said, smiling and arching an eyebrow.

Cordelia opened her mouth to answer, maybe a bit hotly, and then closed it, shaking her head. "No. Dammit."

"Ok, so what's the carrot, then?" Xander said. He had a feeling he knew where this might be going. Comic books, again. And sci-fi and fantasy, notably Roger Zelazny and Chalker and Meyers...

Janus nodded, and waved his hand. A small, plain tray of dark and elegant wood appeared on the table in a space that was suddenly there to receive it. It held a stoppered glass decanter half filled with a translucent, sparkling, peach colored fluid, a shallow wooden bowl filled with dark, rich looking fruit, and a small glazed ceramic pitcher. And two wine glasses, and a pair of small ceramic cups.

"Food of the Gods," he said, almost reverently. "Partake, if you wish and you would. Eat of ambrosia, dine upon nectar, and drink of the waters of the Hippocrene."

"Uh... " Cordelia's mouth hung open for a minute, until she recovered. "Wait – what's the catch? I thought you said... "

"At least not without warning you and telling you the effects and consequences first, yes," Janus said, nodding. "You'll become like unto one of us. Only not quite, not for a long time. Something... no longer quite mortal, but not quite a God. Still, much more than human, and maybe a bit less," he explained. "The catch is: there is no going back. Screw what you've heard in your mythologies: no one, not even the All, can unmake this choice."

"Wow." Cordelia said, swallowing hard with her gaze riveted to the tray. She blinked, wrenching her gaze away to look up at Janus, and frowned. "The All?"

"The All," Janus said, nodding, "Also called The One, The Absolute, The Great One, The Creator, The Supreme Mind, The Supreme Good _and_ the Supreme Evil; The Great Dreamer; The Father, and The Universal Mother. Everything that _is_, and _will_ be, or at least that _can_ be, collectively makes up The All. We exist in a Panentheistic based cosmos."

"Uh... okay," Cordelia said, nodding. She blinked again.

"It's not important," Janus said, smiling at her.

"Great big fleas have little fleas, with littler fleas to ride them," Xander said, winking at her.

"Exactly," Janus said, tapping his nose and pointing at Xander.

"Right. It's turtles all the way down," Cordelia said, shaking her head. "And I am so _not_ going to bother trying to wrap my head around that."

"Uh... so. Immortality?" Xander said.

"Oh yes. Well, almost... say something just a wild hair less than forever and a day. And maybe a little bit longer."

"And, what then?" Cordelia said. "We get to hang out here in Olympus or wherever and be... almost gods, like, with you and the others?"

"No. At least, not at first," Janus said, shaking his head. "You can visit, when and if you want – but not stay, not for a while. No, you get your own slice of the World's Dream, to play in and do as you wish and you will with, to your heart's content. Until you grow up into your powers and your abilities and your immortality, and the responsibility that _should_ go with them. _Then_ you get to be as one among us." He paused, "Oh, and access to others like yourself, to compare notes and share friendships, knowledge, and companionship and camaraderie with – and enmities, if you choose. But _not_ access to _their_ slices of the World's Dream."

Both of them frowned at him.

Janus shrugged. "It's set up like that for a reason, now. Mostly to keep from having the kind of excesses that we used to perpetuate on your kind and other mortals, while _we_ were learning and all heady and drunk with power. It's only been waived once, recently, and that's just because... those asshole Powers had managed to screw things up so thoroughly that _something_ had to be set up as a counter to them, to straighten things out. It won't be allowed again, not for a long time: the circumstances there were unique, and they no longer exist."

Xander examined the God, a slow half smile coming across his lips. "And the other choice? I seem to remember 'more or less' was mentioned."

"Good catch," Janus said, his lips twitching into a slight smile. "Choice three: you can choose to stay here, with me. As part of my retinue, family, whatever you want to see it as."

"As what, servants? Wow, some choice," Cordelia said, her tone scathing.

Janus made a rude noise that made her jump. "Oh, Hades no. I _have_ servants and servitors. What I _lack_ are friends and comrades, or at least enough of them. I am... first among equals, here. And you'd be two of those equals, just lacking in my power and knowledge. At least at first. But things change, over time."

"Ok, so what happens if we pick Door Numbers One or Two? To our world, um, line?" Cordelia asked, her brow furrowed.

"Most people wouldn't care," Janus said.

"I – _we're__ – _not most people," she said, Xander nodding his agreement. He was kinda curious about that himself.

Janus nodded, looking extremely self satisfied. "Excellent. And, no, you are not," he said. "Simple. Metaphysics again. It exists. You exist there. Because the time line and circumstance and history, not to mention causality, demands it, an Alexander Harris and a Cordelia Chase will be born there, to your respective parents, and grow up there. But not as you did: it's not the same world, after all. Everything you went through in Sunnydale recently will be their past and mythology, your former present history won't exist for them, as it didn't happen that way, and they'll have slightly different memories and selves, because _they_ were shaped by different circumstances and events."

"But not us," Xander said.

"No, _you_. Just... a different you, but still you. You that might have been, had things been slightly different. No Hellmouth, and no... well, a lot of other things."

"And if we pick to go back? Or there? Or whatever?" Cordelia said.

"What, you want to take all the surprise and fun out of this?" Janus said. She scowled, and he laughed, continuing, "_You_ become those versions of you. With _both_ sets of memories: growing up in that world line and being shaped by it, and growing up in the one you did, with all the memories including your recent past."

"Just... not immortal, right?" Cordelia said.

"Naw. You'll live out a normal human lifespan, _together_ if you so choose. And die, and then return _here_, because you're marked as two of mine now. And be able to rest, and play, and then have choices to make, again, if you wish."

"Wait, marked?" Xander wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. Although the returning to this place sounded nifty. He'd never liked any of the concepts of the afterlife he'd been fed as a kid, or that he'd heard of since. This seemed like a cool place.

"What, we're your worshipers now?" Cordelia looked as skeptical as she sounded.

"Only if you wish," Janus said, shrugging. "I'd enjoy at least being revered, but it's not a requirement. No, you're marked as being touched by me, now. Other gods, demons, and powers will recognize that, and know not to screw with you – unless you _choose_ to directly interfere and involve yourself with them. You can worship whoever you want. Even become agents of the powers if you wish, or align yourself with them. Oh – and you'll be marked to come _here_, at the end, rather than being shunted to some Hell, or some other afterlife not of your choice and against your will."

"Huh."

"So, whatcha think?" Cordelia asked, frowning at Xander.

"I dunno. What do you think?" Xander asked, looking at Cordelia in return.

"I asked you _first_, dammit," she said. "Oh – wait. Those are the _choices_. What're the _rewards_?"

Janus laughed, and Xander shrugged, grinning. "That's my girl," he said. "Always her eyes on the prize." Cordelia huffed and swatted him.

"I am so very tempted to just say neener neener and leave that as exercises for the student," Janus said, grinning. Cordelia glared at him, and he held up his hands. "But I won't. Simple. If you go back to your lives, as they'll be, you get a few... bonuses to take with."

"Such as?" Xander said, his eyebrows rising.

"Well... _you_, you get _integrated_," Janus said. He waved his hand negligently, and Xander's eyes flashed green briefly.

Xander reeled in the chair a bit, his eyes suddenly glazed, and Cordelia gasped and clutched his hand fiercely. "What the hell did you do?" she yelled, rounding on Janus.

"Relax," Janus said, his tone reassuring. "Nothing to harm him. He's integrated now. Those nagging hyena remnants? They're one with him now. And those fragmented soldier memories that _would_ have caused problems down the line? Rather than having memories and personality fragments from a conglomeration of mix and match soldier concepts from Ethan's spell, he now has _one_: a singular and rather unique veteran, and one that fits his personality and... character."

Xander straightened, squeezing her hand back. "It's _ok_, honey, really. I'm _all right_. Now, actually – _really_ all right." He grinned, "Maybe for the first time in a long, _long_ while."

"Well," Cordelia bit her lower lip, searching him with her eyes. He met her gaze back, letting her... she nodded finally, reluctantly. "If you say so." She gasped, then. "Wait – Hyena Boy?"

"Don't sweat it," Janus said. "Really. You're _mated_ now, heart, soul, mind and body. The remnants of the Hyena tutelary being would no more _ever_ harm _you_ than it would eat its young. And even more so, now that they're integrated with and melded with _Xander_."

Cordelia looked dubious, and a bit scared, and Janus made an exasperated now. "Oh, come on. Didn't you recently tell someone that you could never _ever_ imagine Xander ever harming you? Did you _mean_ that, or was it just... reassuring _bullshit_?"

Cordelia's spine straightened with a crackle, and her eyes flashed angrily. Her chin came up. "_You_... I don't _bullshit_ about things like _that_. Dammit."

"Well, all right, then." Janus said, nodding. "You really named yourself well and aptly, you know," he said, smiling at her. "Lahini – one of Kipling's fierce eyed she-wolves. Deadlier than the male."

"And just what little surprises exactly did you have in mind for me?" Cordelia said, sarcastically, her eyes still flashing.

"You? Ah. You'll grow into yourself, finally and fully. Without interference from any other Powers or wannabe powers," Janus said. He frowned slightly, and gestured, and a soft white glow settled gently around her... fading after a few moments. "There – and do it safely, this time, and in your _own_ time."

Cordelia frowned and opened her mouth, and Janus held up a hand. "And before you ask," he said, "I don't know exactly what that will entail or mean, so, don't. I just know that you'll become more than you hoped for, and more than you ever could have possibly dreamed you would."

"Hmm." Cordelia frowned, still looking disgruntled, but no longer fuming, at least. "What about Dude and all them?"

"Hah. Not going to ruin every surprise. Neener-neener," Janus said. "Hell, _read_ about them. Watch lots of Westerns. Research."

"All right. So, Goofy. What do you want to do?" Cordelia turned to Xander, apparently deciding to ignore Janus.

"Hmm. I dunno. Pinky, are you pondering what I'm pondering?" Xander said, his smile going lopsided.

"Huh?" Cordelia blinked at him, gaping. Then her eyes cleared, and a slow smile of her own began to develop. "Gee, I think so, Brain. But this time _you_ get to put the garter belts and the merry widow on the bull."

Xander laughed, and then leaned in, his eyes sparkling, and kissed her slowly and thoroughly. "I love you, you know?"

"I think I'm starting to figure that out."

"So." Xander shrugged. "Should we stay or should we go now?"

Cordelia looked deep into his eyes, searching them, and nibbling at her lower lip. "I dunno. Immortality, life here, or back to our miserable lives."

"Have the feeling they won't be so miserable now."

"We'll grow old, Doofus."

"Together, Mrs. Doofus."

"Oh yeah? What makes you think I'll want to spend the rest of my life with _you_, dumb ass?"

"Because you _will_," Xander said, kissing her again. "Because you _do_. Because you always _have_."

"Yeah?' Cordelia tossed her hair at him, her eyes sparkling. "Gee, you sound just awful confident."

"I know," Xander said, smiling lopsidedly at her. "It's because I have a just awful sweet gal that I've known since I was five."

"Is that a trade up from a just awful sweet Winchester?"

Xander's grin grew wider and even more lopsided, and hers grew to match it. "We'll have to ask Heidi."

"So... you'd really go home with me? Or stay with me here?"

"Huh? Hell, Cordelia. Home is where _you_ are," Xander said. "I don't care _where_ that is."

"Huh," she said, biting at her lower lip. "You've changed, a bit."

"It's all the learning experiences. Wheel of Morality, turn turn turn – "

"– Show us the lessons that we should learn," she finished, laughing. "All right," she said, finally. "Let's do it."

"You heard the lady," Xander said. He looked over at Janus. "Send us – "

Janus smiled at the empty armchair where his two guest had been sitting. He raised his whiskey glass. "Salud, you two. And... vaya con dios. Go with the All."

After a few moments, he threw his head back, laughing, and said, "Jupiter's beard. Sometimes I really love my job." He scowled suddenly, and his eyes narrowed.

"All right," he said, looking intently into the shadows at the corner of the large room. "You can come on out, now."

A rather dumpy and lugubrious looking figure wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt, faded chinos, and a rather shapeless pork pie hat shrugged and stepped out into the room, his hands in his pockets.

"Gotta say, Two-face, my bosses are seriously _not_ with the happy towards you right now," the figure said.

"Whistler?" Janus said.

The little dumpy man looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Get the hell off of my lawn, punk," Janus said, waving his hand. He glared at the empty spot. "Goddamned kids."

He snorted, and finished his whiskey, and poured himself another. "Tell your _bosses_ to go and make with the fucking of themselves."

* * *

.


	39. Once Upon a Time in the West -

**Epilogue I****I****: ****Once Upon a Time in the West ****(That Never Was)**

* * *

"_Arguing is one of life's great pleasures, even if you have to argue with yourself. Course, I could enjoy the other side of that argument, too.__"_ ― Walter Slovotsky

* * *

_Wednesday, July 28, 1898 – Morning:_

They had come awake the first time dressed and seated in a huge example of one of the most comfortable reclining arm chairs she'd ever sat in in her life. Lives. Both of them, Cordelia snuggled in next to and alongside of Xander, one of his arms around her, and one of her hands holding his.

Dressed as they'd been at Dude's before they left for the hotel, in a large, elegantly appointed gun and game room before a lit fireplace.

There had been a tall, broad shouldered, handsome and bearded man sitting across from them. He'd had a seriously nice, comfortable looking leather arm chair of his own. And he'd been wearing clothing similar to theirs... actually, closer to what Dude had been wearing. Blue shirt, black leather vest, and dark jeans. No Marshall's star, though, and no gunbelt.

And a long conversation full of questions and answers – hey! real answers for once, from a supernatural being yet – and actual information and explanations. With, like actual content and stuff.

Cordelia would be real impressed by that if, like, she wasn't just a naturally suspicious and paranoid bitch and all.

Or maybe not. _Sunnydale_ doesn't breed the warmest, fuzziest, and most trusting of natures into its surviving graduates. They are, one and all, all of them who lived through it, a kind of a hard bitten and suspicious breed. Wolves and she wolves, one and all. The _meek_ inherit land in Sunnydale in six foot by six foot by three foot plots. And then get up and walk around and eat the living.

Still... the information and content had been _fascinating_...

And the food and refreshments were great, too.

Cordelia leaned forward and refilled her coffee mug with that wonderful brew, and a splash of Irish, and some Bailey's for creamer. Yummy.

It was shortly after Janus had finished explaining what exactly it was that he did, what his demesne was, and, after her and Xander's little chewy and crunchy, Gucci and Salvation Army routine...

"Exactly," Janus said, laughing. "I like the two of you, I really do. In all of the world lines in which your set of personae exist, the two of you are very nearly unique. Always have been, in all of your myriad incarnations and reflections."

"How so?" Cordelia picked up a small plate full of rugelach, to snack on with the coffee. And to feed Xander bits and pieces of, while she continued to study their unexpected host.

"Well, your mate here is a walking, talking child of chaos. And you are one of the very few people in existence that can't be intimidated. Not by anything or anyone."

"Oh, please. I'm intimidated all the _time_," she replied, "I just don't _show_ it, most of the time."

"Not in the way that most people use the term, you aren't," Janus said, shaking his head. "No. Scared? of course. Who _doesn't_ get scared of the things you deal with? But you – you bounce back and it doesn't stop you. Either of you. _He_ jokes at them. _You?_ You'll look a god or a demon in the eye and _dare_ them not to back down. Or, oh, act terrified and slice an enormously powerful dark mage across the eye with a hide out knife, _knowing_ you're going to die for it. And not _caring_, so long as you can take him down with you."

Yup. Lahini. She would. She _had_. Meaner and deadlier than the male.

"You bet," Janus said, as if he'd read her mind. And maybe he had – god, after all. Or so he said. "Kipling nailed that one right where it lives. You really are – gods help anyone if they get thrown to the women."

"That's my girl," Xander said proudly. "All guts, _and_ beauty and brains."

"And you," Janus said, looking at Xander. He poured himself a large whiskey, and sipped at it. "You unravel the warp and woof of the weaving just by existing. You broke a supposedly unbreakable prophecy from the Pergamum _Codex_. Wrecked pure hell out of Angel and Buffy Summers' destinies. Kicked the Power's plans for Angel right into the dumpster." Janus laughed, "Hell, Whistler should have said he never saw _you_ coming. It's what he _meant_, but he was too stupid to even recognize what kicked him in the teeth. You unravel fates. You're the _last_ person that idiot chaos disciple should have touched with chaos magic."

Well, he nailed Xander right, at least. And doofus boy looked kind of stunned on that one.

Janus smiled, and added, "And you're connected, both of you, in a way that few are. Always have been, from the very first time you set eyes on each other. You and that Willow girl come close, Xander, just... not quite."

Snerk. About time someone pointed that out to Xander. Someone he couldn't laugh off.

"What, like, soul mates?" Xander said, a bit skeptically.

"Naw. Just... _mates_. Of the forever and a day kind. _Soul mates_ is a hippy-dippy, crystal-hugger schmuck-bait concept that has no meaning. Great for selling chick flicks and Hallmark cards. It's like saying, oh, 'real man' for instance. You're a man, you're real. You're a woman, you're a real one, by _definition_. Defining it is for sissies and pedants. You two're the real thing: two halves of a whole. Apart, you're each a force to be reckoned with. Together... you're a lot more than the sum of yourselves."

"So, what now?" Cordelia said. Fascinating stuff, especially the bits about her and Xander having loved each other since they were little kids. Which, yeah, ok. True. At least since they got married in his backyard at seven with a bubble gum ring and a stolen Barbie. And no one's business _but_ theirs... But _enough_. Time to hit brass tacks or whatever.

Janus raised an eyebrow, and she narrowed her eyes at him, and said, "You didn't put us there, and then pull us here just to shoot the breeze, bucko. Or because you're really a nice warm and fuzzy guy under it all. You so _want_ something. Or need something. Spill."

"See what I mean? Extraordinary. Not an intimidated bone in her body," Janus said to Xander. "Ok." He turned his full attention on Cordelia... and briefly, just for a moment, he seemed to swell and grow, and she got just a glimpse of what _precisely_ he was, and _exactly_ what that entailed. And oh, my God... And then it was gone, and there was just a handsome and bearded man sitting across from her again.

Wow. Suddenly, she felt really tiny, and really scared for the first time in this whole conversation.

A freaking _god_ had just drawn back, brought forth his Aspect, and wrapped power around himself like a _cloak_.

Made that freaking demon that ate Wilkins' soul look and seem _puny_. Made the petty and vindictive God she'd learned about in Sunday school seem like a five year old throwing a tantrum. And all without saying a single word. Cordelia swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.

Janus winked at her, and she felt a sudden hysterical urge to giggle uncontrollably. The contrast was just so, so... so.

"I _did_ want something. You _gave_ it to me already. I did need something. You provided it already. You did a great and difficult service for a greater _g__od_," Janus said, "And as tradition and metaphysics demand, you now get a choice. Choices. _And_ a reward. Maybe even rewards, plural. And, because I'm _not_ a cold and nasty and duplicitous guy under it all, your choices and your rewards are not going to turn around and bite you in the ass, kiddo. Good enough?"

"Uh," Cordelia gulped, and found herself nodding. "Good enough. Sir."

"And knock that _sir_ crap off," Janus said, scowling. "I'd say that 'sir' is my dad, but I don't really have one."

"Yessir," they both said, she and Xander, simultaneously. They looked at each other sidelong and grinned.

Ok, so maybe she didn't _stay_ intimidated much, or long. Janus could be right.

"Brats," he said, affectionately. "And as I said, choices and rewards time."

"All right, shoot," Xander said. "Only, not like, literally, 'cause, hey – not liking my odds here of a shootout with a god and all."

"Hey, in the right place and time, you might come out on top," Janus said, grinning. "Ok. First one and the big choice. Go back to your lives in your Sunnydale and time, or stay here and build lives with each other in – "

"Stay," they both said, simultaneously again. And glanced sidelong again, each of their eyebrows going up.

"– West that Never Was of 1898. And, ok, that was fast." Janus blinked at them, and smiled. "Are you real sure, now? This can_not_ be taken back."

Cordelia bit at her lower lip, and turned in the chair to face Xander more fully. He, for his part, shifted to the corner of the seat, so he could turn more to her and do the same. She looked into his eyes, searching deeply for... something. She wasn't sure what.

She just knew it was suddenly deathly important that she find it.

Xander shrugged. "Up to you, Cordy. I already said: where _you_ are is home. Where you're _not_, is nothing and nowhere I want a part of. All that stuff we left in 1998? Doesn't matter if _we_ are not there."

"Oh?" Cordelia arched an eyebrow at him. "And Willow and Buffy?"

She saw a brief pang go through him at the thought of the loss of Willow and Buffy, and saw him ruthlessly suppress it.

"Doesn't matter," Xander said, his eyes smiling at her. "They'll just have to fend for themselves."

Damn. But it felt like if her smile got any bigger, her face might split in half. "Oh, yeah?" she said, her eyes searching his. There was something of deathly importance she needed to find there...

"Hey. I was ready to walk through a small army of gunmen to reach you," Xander said, his own smile going all lopsided, and those chocolate eyes crinkling at the corners. "I didn't do that just to say: hey, that was fun. Now, bye!"

"Dork."

"Fashion queen."

"Doofus."

"Ice princess."

"Dumb ass."

"Bitch."

"Damned straight," Cordelia said, finding it, and started laughing. "The one and only."

"You already said I could have you," Xander said, grinning like an idiot. "I _knew_ if I tried that line on enough pretty girls, _one_ of them would fall for it."

"Jerk," she said, and thumped him one, lightly.

"Yup. Your jerk."

"Oh, lucky me. All right," Cordelia said, never taking her eyes off of Xander's. "I guess that settles that. We're staying."

"Done."

They finally managed to tear their eyes off of each other and turned back to him, smiling. Cordelia felt a tightness in her chest that she almost couldn't seem to breathe past, and a warmth that didn't seem like it was going away. Good.

"All right, then, so that's that," Cordelia said, "And, so, what's the reward? And the choice? We get two choices, you said, then?"

"Well, the one you just made, effectively obviates the other," Janus said. "But don't worry – you'll get another crack at it later on, when all is said and done." He smiled, "And the rewards? What's the usual reward for a job well done?"

"Another fucking job, sir," Xander said, his eyes narrowing.

Janus smiled and nodded. "Close. Real close," he said. "But, first, I have some adjustments to do so that things will work out right."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and seemed to take on a glow. Cordelia had that impression again, of him swelling and growing, and suddenly becoming infinitely _more_. And infinitely _other_, briefly. She heard Xander suck in his breath, and knew that he'd seen it, also.

And then she and Xander took on a soft white glow, which lasted briefly, and then faded... Janus opened his eyes, smiling, and suddenly back to what he had been.

"Uh, what _was_ that?" Cordelia said.

"Had to make some adjustments," Janus said. "Nature abhors a vacuum, which is kind of strange given that she made so damned much of it. And so do gods and powers. There was a Cordelia Chase and an Alexander 'Xander' Harris that would have been, _will_ have been, born in Sunnydale to your respective parents in this world line, or what's become of it, in 1980 -slash- '81. They _had_ to _be_, so now they _will_ be, and were. And just so as to not be a royal prick about it... " Janus shrugged, "I had to have a moment with them and give _them_ a choice also."

"Uh, what kind of choice?" Xander said, blinking.

"Similar to yours," Janus said. "And the option to choose ignorance as bliss, or to have all of the memories, both of growing up there in their world and time line as they did, plus, when the time is right, of having your memories of growing up in your time and Sunnydale, including the events that have just passed, up to you going to sleep in your hotel room. Plus a few perks."

"Wait, you cloned us?" Cordelia blinked also, and heard her voice come out sounding incredulous. "But... "

"No," Janus said. "You're _them_. They're _you_. No cloning involved."

"But what about souls?" Xander said, still blinking and looking stunned.

"Oh, Hades, that was the easy part," Janus said, grinning. "I just took part of yours, or part of one of yours each, and gave it to them. Piece of cake." He snapped his fingers.

"Uh, _one_ of them?" Cordelia said, "But I thought it was, like, one to a customer. And _part_? We have only _part_ of a soul now?"

"Oh, please," Janus said, rolling his eyes. "Quick, both of you, pull yours out and count them. I'll wait. And watch." He folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," Cordelia said, huffing. "Point made. Asshole."

"She _had_ a good question," Xander said, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. Jerk.

"Sigh. Fine," Janus said. "She did, you're right. And it's another metaphysics thing. But.. yeah. Everyone has multiple souls. And, a soul is infinitely divisible. You can _not_ have 'part of a soul'. Divide a soul in half? You get two whole souls. Infinitely, if you want – that's how you can have a nearly infinite multiverse with all of its branching and variations."

"Fine," Cordelia said, petulantly. "_Two_ souls. And there's two of us now?"

"Oh, you have no idea how _many_ of you there are across the multiverse, Cordelia," Janus said, smiling. "And how many Xanders. And yes, a you _now_, and a you there and then, just as there was before. Only you here and now are the you that grew up in Paradise, California, or whatever it was called then, between 1876 and 1898, with a lot of extra from you of a Sunnydale time line that now... isn't. And _they're_ the pair of you who grew up in Sunnydale of 1980 through 1998." He sighed, and said, "It _had_ to even out."

Xander shook his head, looking bemused. "Ok, so, the 'nother job? And the rewards?"

_Yeah_. Good questions, dammit.

"The other job? That's simple," Janus said, "Running jumping standing still. Go back to your lives here. Do the next thing, whatever it is. _Love_ each other, dammit. _Live_. And when it's all said and done, come back here and rest and relax and regroup, and we'll kick back and talk. _After_ you've lived out your span of years."

"Huh? That's it?" Cordelia said, blinking.

"What, you want to roll a boulder uphill for the next thousand years?" Janus said, laughing. "Ok, fine – "

"No!" Cordelia and Xander said, together. "That's good, we're good. Just... surprised," Xander added.

"Hades, that's _enough_. You'll have ample opportunity to muck about and interfere with the plans of demons and gods and powers and bad men, just by being who you are."

"So, what, like no warnings about not changing history or anything?" Cordelia asked.

"Snerk. Naw. That was a problem, I wouldn't be leaving you all of your memories," Janus said. "Change whatever you want, and whatever you can. Use whatever knowledge and tools you have. What's that Vin's pappy always used to say? It'll all come out in the wash, honest."

"You say so," Xander said, shrugging. For her part, Cordelia's mind was already whirling with ideas... "And so, rewards?"

"Boy, you're stuck on that, aren't you?" Janus said. "Fine. Zotz!" He stared at them.

Briefly, Xander's eyes glowed green, and then white, and he arched back. Cordelia looked at him wide eyed, clutching him in alarm, and then glared at Janus.

Cordelia looked at him wide-eyed, clutching him in alarm, and then glared at Janus. "What did you _do_ to him? _Xander!_"

"Hey," Xander said, opening his eyes and blinking. "I'm ok. _Really_ ok," he said, wonderingly. "Seriously, Cordy."

"He's fine. Better than fine. And so are you."

"So _what_ did you _do_?" Cordelia huffed, blew strands of hair from her eyes, and folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him.

Janus grinned again. _Jerk_. He said, "That nasty business with the remainders of the Halloween spell that would have fragmented fully and caused your man there so much trouble over the years? All integrated now. Instead of having multiple bits and pieces of a hundred concepts of soldier and warrior they're now all integrated into one, and with him and his psyche. And that bit of Hyena tutelary being remnant that would have interacted with all of that in around ten to fifteen years and sent him into a rubber room with an I-love-me jacket? Also integrated and not an issue."

"Huh." Cordelia arched an eyebrow, still not satisfied.

"It's all right, Cordy. _Really_," Xander said. "We'll talk, ok?" He leaned forward and poured himself a straight scotch and soda, leaning back and sipping at it reflectively. He looked over at Janus and nodded.

"_Fine_," she said, finally, still bristling at the god. "And?"

"Oh, the usual. You won't get sick. And you won't die from illness, Alzheimer's, cancer, heart attacks, _childbirth_, or any of the other stuff. Only old age, accident, violence or mishap will take you out. And no tooth decay," Janus said. "Oh – and, while not immortal, when you're older, you'll look about twenty or so plus years younger than your real age. You, Cordelia will be an exceptionally lovely and youthful looking seventy year old, for example. And Xander there will be an extremely well preserved and distinguished looking octogenarian."

"Huh." Cordelia said again, a bit mollified. She fixed herself another Irish coffee and sipped at it.

"Oh, and one more thing," Janus said. He waved his hand again, and Cordelia glowed blue-white briefly, her eyes turning pupilless white and rolling back into her head for a moment...

"Hey!" it was Xander's turn to clutch at her protectively and glare at the god. "What the hell?"

"Relax, kid," Janus said. "That just fixed a problem that _might_ have cropped up in a few years for your lady there, or maybe not, depending. Now? If certain aspects of her heritage develop fully, they'll do so on their own, and they _won't_ kill her or destroy her mind."

"Destroy her... " Xander's glare intensified. "_What?_"

"And I think I just thoroughly pissed off about six different wannabe powers who _now_ won't be able to turn Cordelia to their own ends by manipulating those aspects," Janus added, either ignoring or completely oblivious to Xander's enraged expression.

"Whoa," Cordelia said, her glow fading. She put a hand to her head, opening her eyes. "_That_ felt... bizarre."

"Cordy?" Xander turned her slightly to face him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Think so... no. I'm _fine_, Doof," she said, smiling at him reassuringly. "It's all right."

"She's fine, really," Janus said, smiling at them.

"The _hell_ was that?" Cordelia snapped at him, her eyes wide, and then narrowing.

"Just... say that now the Cassandra effect won't bite you in the ass, Cordelia," Janus said. "Ask your friend Reginald Giles – he'll explain it."

"Right," Cordelia grumbled, glaring at him. "Anything _else_ in this mixed bag of so called blessings?"

"Oh! How sharper than a Serpent's Tooth," Janus said, placing a hand on his heart theatrically and rolling his eyes. He smirked at them. "_And_ you're both marked as two of _mine_ now. Marked as being touched by _me_, now. Other gods, demons, and powers will recognize that, and know not to screw with you – unless you _choose_ to directly interfere and involve yourself with them. You can worship whoever you want. Even become agents of the Powers if you wish, or align yourself with them. Although why you'd want to have anything to do with _those_ asswipes is beyond me. Oh – and you'll be marked to come here, at the end, rather than being shunted to some Hell, or some other afterlife not of your choice and against your will."

"Hmm." Cordelia and Xander exchanged long looks, and shrugged. Oh well, better than she might have expected. And it could have been a lot worse.

You just _don't_ get mixed up with gods and demons and usually come out on the of the good side of things...

"So, whatcha think?" Cordelia asked, frowning at Xander.

"I dunno. What do you think?" Xander asked, looking at Cordelia in return.

"I asked you _first_, dammit," she said.

"I think it's done," Xander said, shrugging. "Kind of pointless to ask, now."

"Right," Cordelia said. She nodded. "Ok, so, we go back now?"

"Yup." Janus lifted his hand, and paused. "Oh, and when all is said and done, and you two come back here finally, you have a job offer to look forward to."

"Job offer?"

"Yup. Remember when I said there was a near infinity of world lines like yours and like this one out there across the multiverse? They have a near infinity of problems, too. I could use a pair of agents like you two, with your skills and abilities, and your knack for getting dropped into the middle of a situation and turning it inside out and upside down. Only restriction is that you can't co-exist with your current other selves, so around a hundred years or so, plus about twenty years either way, is off limits. Otherwise... any era, any time frame."

"Huh. Meaning from around 1960 to what, like, 2100 is out of bounds?" Cordelia said, frowning.

"Something like that."

"Heh. I kind of like guns. So no sword and sorcery stuff... " Xander said.

"Horses and six-guns and spaceships maybe?" Cordelia said, smiling. "I'm kind of getting to like the Wild West, too."

Xander grinned at her, winked, and turned back to Janus. "We'll think about it."

"You'll have to do so in your dreams, or when you get back and we discuss it at more length," Janus said. "That part, the job offer, you _won't_ remember consciously. You'll just _know_ you have something to look forward to at the end." He smiled, "It'll probably make you insufferable to the closed minded who're convinced that they, and _only_ they, have a lock on what the afterlife and final reward is all about."

He winked, lifted his hand, and then smiled at the empty chair.

Janus sat there sipping his whiskey, and thinking. After a time a tall man wearing a black, tailed, formal tuxedo came in, frowned slightly, and began to brush off the empty seat with a small whisk broom. He somewhat resembled a sterner, white haired Michael Caine...

"Ah. Alfred," Janus said. He inclined his head toward the table, and added, "Leave that stuff, please, I'll finish it off."

"Very good, sir."

"And, if you would, please," Janus added, after a moment's thought, "Ask Mr. French to prepare something special for tonight's repast. I'm having a guest, and I'd like to surprise her."

"I shall do that, sir," his butler and batman said. "Might I inquire as to whom?"

Janus shrugged. He knew it wasn't idle curiosity or for purposes of gossip: the knowledge would give the butler, as well as the cook and household manager, needed information for taking proper care of a guest.

"Unfortunately, no one you know as of yet," Janus said. "A young lady from a few dimensions over – an Evan Wilson, or at least that's what she goes by at the moment. Human, though, or mostly. So there's a reasonable assumption that Earthly delicacies should be enjoyable."

A nod. "I'll look forward to her arrival, sir. And I do hope that you enjoy the evening." Alfred waited.

"I think I probably shall," Janus said, chuckling. He helped himself to a cup of coffee, and a square of white chocolate. "So. What's on the docket for the rest of the current time frame?"

"Ah. One moment, sir," his butler and personal assistant took a moment that wasn't really needed to refresh his memory. Janus knew that Alfred was accessing his own sliver of Intellectus to check for and on updates to situations that might need personal attention.

"There is still that ongoing situation on oh-twenty-three that is in delicate stages at the moment," Alfred said.

"Hmm." Janus focused his awareness upon the proper slice of the World's Dream. "Ah. The Vegas Wedding time line, yes. Huh. Seems to be able to take care of itself for the moment. And, if not, the other interested parties should be able to deal with any emergencies."

"Very well," Alfred said. "So, nothing for the moment there?"

"Nah." Janus waved negligently and said, "Schedule a small gathering and invite the usual selection of friends. We'll have a watching party."

"I'll do that, sir. Should Aphrodite be among them?"

"Oh, of course. It's just not a party without her."

"Very good, sir. And there is that business on oh-one-forty-two that seem to be unraveling a bit," Alfred stated.

"Oh? The line with that Elminster fellow? Or one of them?" At the butler's nod, Janus paused to check in there for a moment. "Hmm. Let's see... let's send that new girl, Kendra. She needs to be blooded properly. And, oh, that Costigan fellow, and the young Maclay. And... ah. Olaf's son. That should be sufficient, albeit a bit destructive."

"Excellent, and I shall do so," Alfred said. "And there is a certain Mr. Whistler in the waiting room demanding to see you."

"Hah! That lackey," Janus said. "Or is he a minion? I always forget."

"I believe he isn't highly enough paid to be a lackey, judging by his clothes," the butler said. "Shall I... ?"

"Leave him cooling his heels for the moment?" Janus said, smiling nastily. "Why yes, excellent idea. He'll either get the message and leave, wait patiently, or barge in after a time."

"Certainly, sir."

After a moment, Janus glanced up, curiously. "Is there something else?"

"I am almost hesitant to question your actions here, sir. However, should you have – " Alfred broke off, and gestured, glancing sharply at the coffee table with its selection of snacks and refreshments.

"Hmm." Janus frowned. He was tempted to dismiss the concern, but... Hades. Experience and judgment was a primary quality in the selection of his staff and associates. It behooved him to pay attention when they expressed a concern.

After a brief time, he shrugged. "I believe so, yes. Just a very slight touch of ambrosia and nectar in the snacks, and a trace of the Hippocrene in the coffee. Not enough to cause a problem or, well, make them one of _us_, but enough to add a slight edge to their abilities and attributes." Janus shrugged, adding, "And give them a perquisite or two I believe that they'll need over the years, if I'm not mistaken."

"As you wish, sir. I shan't say any more then."

"Oh, please," Janus said, smiling. "Say whatever comes to mind. It is what I pay you for, after all."

His butler and friend smiled slightly in return, inclining his head. "And if you were to actually pay me, I'm quite certain that that would be a consideration, sir. Will there be anything else?"

Laughing, Janus waved him off. "No, I don't believe so. And, thank you."

"Of course, sir. It _is_ what I am paid for, after all."

"Smart ass."

* * *

He awoke with an... interesting sensation, and found Cordelia straddling him, and looking down into his opening eyes with a wicked smile.

Apparently, he thought, she _wasn't_ too tired for sex any longer...

And then he was beyond thought, and beyond anything other than sweet sensation and enveloping heat.

He held her after they both collapsed, stroking her hair and back and murmuring things that didn't really have words. And held her after _that_, tightly, as harsh cries, hot tears, and deep, harsh, wracking sobs took her and shook her.

He knew what the tears and the sobs were for...

For all the lost friends, lost family, and lost world they'd given up and would never see again. And for pouring out all the bitter fear, and hate, and pain and rage of the past few days in Wilkins' captivity. And for the dead, and lost, and wounded friends here, and the ones they'd never have a chance to know, that had died in that awful fight at the Mission.

There weren't really words to go with that, and he didn't try for any. Just held and stroked, and let her pour it all out into and against him, until it finally passed and subsided.

What the hell. She'd held _him_ while _he_ shook, aghast and bitterly lost on a hillside, some time back. And again when he'd sunken into a black miasma of mechanical unfeeling, after seeing a girl die in front of him, and killing six men in a senseless fight. _He_ could hang on and put _her_ back together for a change...

It was what partners did for each other.

"All better now?" Xander asked, snagging a bandana from the bedside table and handing it to her.

"Yeah," Cordelia said, wiping at reddened and puffy eyes. "No. Don't know. And... yeah, will be."

"Happens like that, sometimes."

"Did that really happen?" she asked, looking into his eyes in the dim light. "Did we really have a heart to heart with a Greater freaking God? And agree to stay?"

"Yeah, pretty sure," Xander said. "Regrets?"

Cordelia was silent for a long time, her head propped on one forearm on his chest. "Some. And... no, not really." She search his eyes in the dimness. "You?"

"Yeah. No. Maybe," he said, and she laughed. "Not really. Really don't think we'd fit back into our own skins any more, back where we came from. We've... gotten _larger_ than that, somehow."

"Uh huh," she nodded against his chest. "Larger than life?"

"Maybe? Or maybe life's just larger than we knew?" Xander shrugged, and said, "And I just don't think we'd fit modern California any more, either."

"Gods no," Cordelia said, shuddering slightly. "We'd both be on death's row the first time a Jack O'Toole or a Kyle DuFours got crossways of us."

"Yeah," Xander said, laughing softly. "Not a lot of room for gunslingers in our world any more, huh?"

"Nope. Huh," Cordelia said, "Never did figure out: why Rio Blanco? I mean... why _here_?"

Xander laughed again. "Man, thought you'd have nailed that one right off?"

"Oh?"

"C'mon, Cordy, your Sunnydale history knowledge is better than mine," Xander said, smiling. "Sun River? That Wolf Run empties into, and that runs through Durgan's Wood past Fort Halleck, and dumps into the cove up from City Beach? Used to be named Valley River, and before that, the _White_ River, aka... "

"The Rio _Blanco_, back when this was all Spanish California," Cordelia said, nodding. "Duh, and I _so_ knew that, dammit."

"Yup," Xander said, grinning. "Wonder if Ethan Rayne knew just how... _appropriate_ his choice of movies to enchant was?"

"Hah! Bet not," Cordelia said. "And I'll bet that in whatever hell he ended up in, Wilkins is cursing Rayne nine ways from Sunday right now."

"Nah. I play _poker_. I don't _do_ sucker bets."

"Chicken."

"Snerk. So," Xander said, waggling his eyebrows at her, "What should we do with the rest of tonight, Deputy Brain?"

"Oh, same thing we do every night, Deputy Pinky," Cordelia said, a wicked smile starting to spread across her lips. "Have sex, and then try to take over the world."

"Mwahaha."

"My oh my. Such an _evil_ laugh for such a fine, upstanding Deputy."

"I've got something upstanding for you."

"Huh. So I'm noticing... "

* * *

.


	40. Message in a Klein Bottle

**Epilogue II****I****: ****Message in a Klein Bottle...**

* * *

"_We are here and it is now. Further than that all human knowledge is moonshine.__"_ ― H. L. Mencken

* * *

_Sunday, July 19, 1998 – Early Afternoon:_

Life is good, Alexander "Xander" LaVelle Harris thought, leaning back into the couch. He moved his right hand off to one side to set the TV remote down on the end table so that he could give proper and full attention to what he was doing.

Which, at the moment, happened to be _thoroughly_ kissing his girlfriend.

Anything worth doing, and all.

Cordelia made a slight protesting sound into his mouth when his hand went away, and then a satisfied one as it came back to where it had been: on her side just below her left breast. Only now without any impediments to full exploration, if an expedition seemed called for.

One did, really. Exploring Cordelia's tits was always a fruitful and rewarding pursuit. Especially now when expeditions no longer entailed _quite_ as much risk to life and limb as they used to...

Just enough to make it entertaining. He grinned into the kiss.

Cordelia pulled back just enough to ask, "And what are _you_ grinning about, jerkoff?"

"Oh, nothing," Xander murmured back. "Just... " he trailed off, his grin freezing in place, and his eyes suddenly going wide. Oh, holy crap. That... magnificent bastard.

"What?" Cordelia pulled back all the way, and looked at him in some alarm as she saw his wide eyed and startled expression. "What?"

Xander's frozen grin slowly thawed, and spread wider, turning a bit lopsided. "Oh, damn."

"_What?_" Cordelia was starting to sound more than a touch exasperated now, rather than suddenly alarmed. "What?!"

"Good thing that's not _who who_, or you'd sound like an owl," Xander said, his mouth running on reflex with zero input from his brain. He barely even noticed when his girlfriend dope slapped him upside the head.

"C'mon," Xander said, taking Cordelia's hand as he stood suddenly. Cordelia glared at him, but didn't pull her hand away. She did scowl at him in frustrated puzzlement as he led her into her dad's study, without answering any of her questions.

They'd had a couple of days now to sort out and get used to the memories of recent events. _Both_ sets of memories: the ones they'd grown up with, and the ones they'd been gifted with upon waking up in each other's arms the other morning. The ones of the other world line and history they _hadn't_ lived through...

Someone else had. Two someones, and people who were _them_, only not quite. People who'd had _different_ events and forces shape them.

Forces and events that Xander was just as glad they hadn't had to deal with. Seriously, an active Hellmouth? Under the school? What kind of psychotic freak built a _high_ _school_ over a rift to the Hells?

Well, one who'd made demonic pacts to provide lots of Happy Meals on legs for various things, duh. _That_ kind of freak.

Cordelia huffed as he let go of her hand and crossed over to her dad's big glass fronted gun cabinet. She folded her arms across her chest and watched impatiently as he opened it with the key hidden in the nearby light fixture.

Where was it, he knew it was in here... ah. There.

Cordelia's eyebrows ascended her forehead steadily as she watched him take out the big Ruger single-action and slide it into the holster on the gunbelt he'd removed from the lower cabinet. Heh. Those eyebrows went any higher, and she'd never need a facelift.

Not that she would, anyway, if Janus hadn't lied to them...

He bent slightly and buckled the tie down strap. Not quite what he'd been used to, but it'd do. He pulled the revolver and reflexively opened the loading gate and spun the cylinder down his forearm to check.

Empty, good, just as he knew it was. But you _checked_, always. Because there's two types of people in the world: those who've _had_ an accidental discharge, and those who haven't _yet_.

He slid the pistol back into the holster and looked at Cordelia. "Ok, clap."

"_What?_ Oh for... you're _kidding_ me?" Cordelia's brows came down and her eyes went wide, then narrowed. "You have just _got_ to be kidding me, dork."

"Aw, come on, Cordy," Xander smiled at her. "Worst thing? I'll make an idiot out of myself and drop it on my foot and you can laugh scathingly and say you told me so. C'mon. You know the drill."

"I can hardly wait," Cordelia said in a dry voice. "Because there is no part of that that is not fun." Nonetheless, she spread her hands about a shoulder's width apart, rolled her eyes and clapped them together –

– And blinked, her mouth falling open, as the big forty-four magnum Blackhawk was out in his hand, hammer back, a full two heartbeats or more before the smack sounded.

He blinked himself. Lowering the hammer on an empty chamber, he spun the pistol smoothly back into the holster.

"Guh."

"Eloquent as always, dear," Xander said, smirking.

It had the desired effect, that of bringing her out of her wide eyed gape. Even if she _did_ now look like she was casing the room for something heavy enough to bounce off of his skull.

"Well, damn," Xander said, his grin getting a bit broader. "He gave us a few perks."

"Oh, yeah, you're a gunfighter now. _That's_ useful," Cordelia said.

Xander smirked. "Hey," he said "A talent for firearms and applied violence comes in handy in _any_ era."

Cordelia opened her mouth, and then shut it, scowling slightly. "Well, ok, yeah. Can't argue _that_. But... "

Little Info Dump Guy, or hunk of Intellectus, or whatever, was just awful useful, even if he did take some getting used to. Like...

"No sickness. No cancer, tooth decay, heart attacks, Alzheimer's... better and slightly faster healing... " Xander said. Cordelia's eyebrows rose again. "Think about it. Bet it's all there for you, too, now that you know what to look for."

She did, her eyes going slightly unfocused for a moment. They cleared, and she nodded. "Huh. Bet I can ride at Olympic levels now. Or shoot championship level skeet... "

The doorbell rang, and they both looked to the front, frowning slightly. "I'll get it," Cordelia said. "Oh, and stop grinning like a jackass, jackass," Cordelia said. "I'll be right back."

Maid and the housekeeper's day off. Meant they had the place _completely_ to themselves.

"Uh huh," Xander said, nodding. "I'll take loveable but fucking retarded outside for a few minutes."

"_Stop_ calling her that!" Cordelia shook her head. "She's going to start thinking that's her _name_ eventually, and I _so_ am _not_ going to call out 'hey, loveable but fucking retarded' in _public_ to get her attention."

As if on cue, Cordelia's tall and still gangly nine month old Afghan Hound came trotting in, all long, silky black and tan hair and cheerful doggy grin. Cordelia glared at him, and Xander shrugged helplessly, laughing.

The doorbell chimed again, and she rolled her eyes with a huff. "Fine," she said. "I'll be back." She did glance to the gun cabinet as she started to turn, caught herself, and exchanged a rueful look and a wry smile with him before heading to the front.

Apparently, the reflexes and instincts came back with, too.

Pausing in the doorway, Cordelia half turned and fixed him with a slightly malevolent look.

"And I cannot _believe_ that you _slept_ with me! Jerk."

"Oh for... " Xander rolled his eyes. "Haven't we done this to death already?"

"It bears repeating," Cordelia said. She smirked and headed up to answer the door.

"C'mon Tazhi," Xander said, giving a short whistle. He went back to the family room as the tall dog fell in to pace majestically alongside him, and slid open the glass patio door to head out.

Outside, he found a rawhide chew toy and sent it sailing out past the pool to start a game of fetch and destroy, laughing out loud as the young Afghan Hound blasted out after it from a standing start, all drifting, near slow looking motion and flowing hair.

Cordelia's first Afghan, Ghani, from when they were around five and Cordy three, had died quietly in her sleep at the age of fourteen or so. The pup here, Tazhi was... not her replacement, never _that_, but her successor.

He caught the chew toy as it dropped from those huge leopard killing teeth, and threw it again.

Other differences, too, many of which were still slowly sinking in and still processing for both of them. And different similarities, too. Like...

There was the long ago summer solstice day at the beach, between eighth and ninth grade, when he'd been stood up by Jesse and Willow for some reason. And when Cordy had been similarly stood up by her cousin and her boyfriend, who'd been supposed to come up from L.A. Only Wendie's boyfriend had gotten grounded for trashing the house with a party and... And he and Cordy had ended up spending the day together. Surfing, swimming, talking, teasing each other, going on rides, and doing the baseball toss and shooting gallery at the carnival on the Palisades.

Oh. And spending several hours that evening towards and after sunset kissing and making out during the traditional Midsummer bonfire they'd built. Just like their counterparts in that other Sunnydale, more or less. Including that part where Cordy had arrived home that night, long after she should have...

But unlike in another world and time, _his_ Cordy had called him _back_ from the gate after he'd walked her back home that night, and informed him haughtily that he was her boyfriend now, and he'd so _better_ call her while she was grounded. Which had started an off again, on again, bickering and thoroughly enjoyable relationship all through ninth grade to the present that they were _still_ sorting out.

Xander grinned. He'd nearly gotten the crap beat out of him later that night for stealing, uh, _borrowing_, Kyle DuFours surfboard. But it had _so_ been worth it.

Heh. And he didn't have a moment's dismay at the vivid memory of his past counterpart dropping that big Winchester level and putting a 270 grain flat point through DuFours and Jack O'Toole, that long ago day in 1898...

Sure, Jesse had been seriously pissed off at him for stealing 'Jesse's girl' – pissed enough to make an effort at beating the crap out of him – but wah. Worth it, again. And they'd stayed friends, more or less... And then Cordelia's cousin's dad had gotten transferred to Sunnydale in '96. And Jesse had, literally, fallen head over heels for Wendie Sanders, Cordy's hot, near lookalike cousin, when he'd seen her all grown up and had dumped himself and his skateboard over a rail to land at her feet. Kinda like Xander had done for a certain Summers girl, in a different world...

Xander didn't blame him. Personally, he was _still_ convinced that seeing Cordy and Wendie together in those tiny bikinis in the sixth grade had _sent_ him into puberty... Heh. Next best thing to dating twins.

Sure, it _hadn't_ all been instant bliss and undying love: hence the 'on again off again' thing. But discovering a hitherto unknown talent for competitive swimming and joining the Junior Varsity swim team had helped smooth over a _lot_ of things with him and Cordy. It had given her the boost of dating a jock, or at least semi-jock, and these days, the high school elite and popular crowd had more or less accepted him (or at least, had ceased actively hating him). And hey, no longer getting stuffed into lockers? Always a good thing.

The swim team trophy hadn't hurt by making him more acceptable to Cordy's _dad_, either... even though Randall Chase had always kind of liked Xander, him keeping Chase's little girl out until well past midnight on Midsummer's Eve had _definitely_ put him on the elder Chase's shit list for a _long_ time.

"I'll leave the slider open so you can get in," he told the black and tan hound. "Go run, play, do your business, whatever."

Lack of a Hellmouth meant there was nothing in the gardens and two acres of main back yard that could or would harm the pup. Not like before, when the disappearance of _her_ Ghani had nearly destroyed other Cordy... Xander nodded and went back inside. _Definitely_ advantages to this whole thing. Despite never having met Buffy, Giles or even Ampata... and no Willow since the seventh grade.

Oh well. There was always the post Graduation road trip to hit Cleveland and meet this reality's Buffy, and catch up with Will.

When he came back, Cordelia was standing by the couch frowning slightly, with a brown paper wrapped package in her hands. And a moderately puzzled look.

"Huh?" Xander blinked up at her. "I kinda figured that'd be Jesse," he said.

"Oh, please," Cordelia said, sounding a bit distracted. "Like Wendie _ever_ gets ready more than an hour and a half _after_ she says they'll be somewhere. And if Jesse tried to hurry her?"

Hah. That's a laugh. She'd take _three_ hours, just to piss him off. But not _that_ much – the end result would be worth it. Especially from Jesse's point of view... But Wendie _could_ take 'fashionably late' to all new levels of meaning, sometimes.

"Besides, they'd just come around back and let themselves in," Cordelia said.

"And right, I knew that. All right, so – what'd you get me?" Xander bounced on his toes in faux eager excitement.

"You wish, Doof," Cordelia said. She plopped down next to him as he dropped into the couch, stretching her legs out with her feet on the coffee table, and leaned against him. Xander put his arm around her shoulders. "No... it was a courier with a package from Rupert _Giles_, of all people. _Bonded_. With a certified registered letter, apparently." Cordelia peeled an envelope off of the front of the slim box, ripping it open and reaching in to tease out a thin sheaf of paper. And another pair of envelopes...

And, _huh_. Why in the world would _Giles_ be writing _them_? Xander would have bet large amounts of money – that he didn't have – that _this_ Giles didn't even know they _existed_. He leaned his head against Cordelia's, reading from next to her.

.

_Dear Sir and Madame,_

_I beg pardon for taking the liberty of making contact with you in this unexpected fashion, but a rather unusual situation has arisen that requires it of me. It seems that an ancestor of mine, a Sir Reginald Giles, my Great Great Granduncle, had entrusted my Grandfather with a package and a pair of missives to be delivered to me, in care for the two of you, along with strict instructions as to their disposal._

_It seems as though my ancestor had been entrusted with these letters and this package, which he then passed on. My Grandfather had them placed in the care of the Council Archivists with very strict and explicit instructions. To whit: they are to be delivered intact, precisely upon a certain day, July 19th, 1998 to be exact, and not to be opened by anyone other than yourselves. _

_The oddity of this request, and this situation, as well as my deep puzzlement, is that this was done on the behalf of one Alexander LaVelle Harris-Chase, and one Cordelia Persephone Chase-Harris, upon the date of July 17__th__ in __nineteen hundred and twenty-six A.D.__. To be delivered to the two of you on precisely __this__ date, July 19, 1998, this afternoon, without __fail__._

_Even odder is the fact that the Council of Watchers of Great Britain agreed to this request. Odd to myself at least. While my Great Great Grand__uncle Reginald Giles__ was a member of the Council in good standing, it is most unusual – nay, __unheard__ of – for the Archives to even entertain such a request on the behalf of people who most certainly were __not__ a part of the Council. And, to the best that I was able to ascertain, neither of the aforementioned individuals were __ever__ members __of __nor associated with the Council __in any fashion__._

.

"Huh," Xander said. "So the Council gives Giles the mushroom treatment. Bet he _loves_ that."

"Kept in the dark and fed on bullshit, uh huh," Cordelia said, nodding. "He's probably _ecstatic_."

.

_It has been stressed to me, at length, in my ancestor's letter to me, and by the Head of the Council himself, Quentin Travers, as well as by Sir Edmund Wilfred Dacre, Lord Fitzwilliam, 9th Baron Greystock, that both of you are 'in the know' as it were. Therefore I am dispensing with the usual circumlocution that one might use with people outside the Council's circles, in the interests of clear communication._

_Hopefully, you shall be able to make much better sense of the mystery than I can. While it would be greatly appreciated and appease my curiosity, I shall respect your privacy, and shan't ask you to cast any further light upon it for me, if you wish not to do so._

.

"Uh huh," Xander said, smirking. "I'll just _bet_ Giles isn't going to start digging for answers."

"Oh, you know it," Cordelia said. "Starting with genealogy research and ending with bending Quentin Travers, whoever _he_ is, and some poor Archivist over a table, no doubt."

"Yup. Pip pip, cheerio, Quentin – I'm coming in dry!"

"Eeww." Cordelia made a face and thumped him one. "And if _this_ is Giles 'dispensing with circumlocution', I'd so _hate_ to see him being oblique... "

"Lord Fitzwilliam, huh? Isn't he... "

"Her Majesty's Representative to the Council," Cordelia said, nodding and biting her lower lip. Info Dump Girl _did_ come in handy.

"Wow. Reg pulled in the _big_ guns."

.

_Both letters and the associated package and its contents were treated, I'm assured, with preservation magics when they were archived in 1927, and which were renewed and refreshed faithfully over the years. No matter how unusual a request, the Council Archivists do honor their responsibility to documents entrusted to their care with the utmost fidelity. Therefore, the contents should be reaching you in the very condition in which they were entrusted to us._

_As my part in this affair has now been faithfully discharged, I bid you both farewell. And I do hope that this letter and the associated package and missives find you well._

_Yours,_

Rupert Giles, Watcher

_In This Year of Our Lord, the 14__th__ of July, Nineteen Hundred and Ninety-Eight._

.

"Wow." Xander and Cordelia exchanged long looks, Cordelia still chewing on her lower lip.

"So, are you going to open your letter?" she asked him.

"_Me?_" Xander said. "Are _you_ going to?"

She shoved one of the envelopes at him. "I'm _scared_ to. Are you going to open yours?"

"Scared? You're doing _much_ better than me. I'm freaking _terrified_." Xander looked at the envelope in his hands. Yup. Addressed to one Alexander 'Xander' LaVelle Harris. From: one Alexander 'Xander' LaVelle Harris-_Chase_. In his own freaking handwriting, for Zeus' sake. Both of them... yeah, sure, modified a bit by time, but still... his own freaking _handwriting_. He glanced at the envelope Cordelia was holding and examining pensively...

And, yup. From Cordelia Persephone Chase-_Harris_, to Cordelia Meredith Chase. In care of the Watcher's Council of Great Britain. Cordelia looked as freaked, and almost reverent, as he no doubt did. If not more so.

They had both woken up the morning of the 18th in bed together. Hey, second day of her parents trip away to New York. Like they were gonna let an opportunity like _that_ go by? Pssh-yeah right. Okay so maybe they _hadn't_ planned on going all the way right then...

Woken with memories of the _damnedest_ set of dreams. And then gotten hit with a _flood_ of memories – freaking _memories – _along with a massive information dump, that said in no uncertain terms that it wasn't any dream...

And they'd woken up to a whole new Sunnydale. With memories of _both_ Sunnydales, _both_ time lines, and _both_ histories.

One lifetime where there was an active Hellmouth under the high school library. Where he and Cordelia had continued to hate each other bitterly for years. Only not really. Where they'd only gotten together when they were trapped in a basement together by a freaking _bug_ assassin...

Where Jesse had _died_ in their sophomore year, and been turned into a _vampire_, by Janus' double beard. Where _Xander_ had _staked_ him to save Cordelia, for crying out loud. Not that he'd ever _not_ save Cordy...

One where Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles had arrived in Sunnydale roughly a year apart, and turned Xander, Jesse, and Cordelia's lives inside out and upside down.

And one where they _hadn't_, there _wasn't_, and it _didn't_ happen that way.

Buffy Summers was the Slayer on the Hellmouth, all right. In Cleveland, Ohio. Rupert Giles was her Watcher there, and some guy named Pike was her boyfriend, along with Willow (who's parents had moved her to Cleveland in the eighth grade) as Buffy's best friend. Willow still wrote him and Jesse religiously, twice a month, regular as clockwork.

A time line and a world line where there had been no Rio Blanco on the Hellmouth. And one where there was...

Screw it. Xander took a deep breath, and took out his pocket knife and slit open his envelope to slide out his letter. Cordelia sighed heavily and put out her hand. Xander passed her the knife without comment and she did likewise. And they both began to read.

.

_Hey there, Present Me._

_How the hell goes?_

_Yeah, yeah. I know for you, it's only been probably two days, and all of what's just passed hasn't yet settled in completely and sorted itself out. But for me and my Cordy, it's been just over twenty __years__. Think about that._

_Ok, not so hard. I can smell the smoke all the way back here._

_First off: yes, we stayed somehow, while yes, you woke up back in your own bodies in present day Sunnydale at Cordelia's parent's home in July 18th of 1998. Bizarre, huh? At least that's what Reg (Reginald Giles, Rupert Giles' great-great grandpappy, or some such, and how weird is that?) assures me should have happened; and the weird dream walk thing we had involving Janus tells me he was right._

_Plus, I just had a gut feeling..._

_Also first off. And no, it's not really 'second off' because it's equally important:_

_Love the girl, dammit. Marry the girl, dammit.. And whatever you do, do NOT screw things up with Cordy. And yeah__ – __I know that in the back of your mind you're muttering "but__– __but I wouldn't!". Right. Don't forget: I'm you. And you're me. I __know__ you, numb nuts._

_Hell, I know better, and__**I **__almost did a couple of times._

_Don't do it. Don't ever let her go, either. You'll regret it the rest of your miserable life, may it be mercifully short, if you're that idiotic._

_Hell. You love her, idiot. You know you do, if you think about it. Don't try to argue me out of that._

_Run, don't walk to the jeweler's and buy a couple of promise rings. My Cordy is probably doing what she can to make sure yours accepts. On second thought, don't bother – I've got you covered. See package for details. (smirk)_

_Love her. Get engaged at the senior Prom – make Cordy's night. Marry her, dammit – after graduation, if you can't wait til after college. (Try not to have kids before you graduate college though. That can make things hard.) I cannot stress this enough, boy._

_Hell, Randall Chase likes you. Cordy's step mom doesn't, yeah, but she'll come around. And if not? Fuck her. It's yours and Cordy's lives – not hers._

_Yes, I said college. Listen to Pop for once. Yeah, I know he's a dick, but he knows what he's talking about on occasion, and this is one of them. Hell, stay on with S&C after school starts and get into the work release program. Jess Corey always liked us. Yeah – go on the road trip if you still want, and take Cordy with you. But do college even if you have to get grants and student loans or whatever. Go to work for S&C after graduation with provisions for attending college while you build a career. Make things._

_(Our presents should make it easier. More on those later.)_

_If you don't do the marry the girl thing, I'll not only come forward to kick your ass, but you'll miss out on the kids, too, and you do __not__ want to do that. Believe me._

_Yes, kids. See the enclosed pictures._

_Best thing that ever happened to me. Including Mommy's Little Surprise, as I know Cordy loves little Chance as much as I do, or more (although that barely seems possible) even if she does complain that she'd meant it when she said "No more!" after Jolene._

_Now. You're probably wondering what happened after the big shoot out when we took down Mayor Dick and his buddies and Cordy rescued herself and – surprise – we woke up still here the next day..._

_Well. For one, I did what I'm telling you: I married the girl. That fall, right at the end of October. (Yeah, Halloween. Seemed appropriate, somehow. Vin was best man. John T. gave the bride away. Uncle Rory insisted on hosting and paying for the wedding and the reception... )_

_We spent some time out at our Rory's place, right at about four years, getting to know the new Sunnydale and its people better. Seems to be shaping up to be a pretty good place, so far, without Mayor Dick around to turn it into a feeding ground for monsters, with himself as Mayor McDemon Lackey. Hope that continued. Reg says it should: apparently, Cleveland, Ohio became the active Hellmouth rather than Sunnydale. So, basically, we didn't kick over the table and deal a new game so much as we just shuffled the deck again._

_Oh, well._

_Brett survived and recovered well, even though he was no longer ever as fast as he once was. He's one of our kid's godparents. (They have so many godparents they hardly know what to do with 'em, but at least they'll never go unloved.) He and Veronique had kids of their own, three of them. And he still owns the Paradise, last I read._

_Tor recovered also. He and Heidi, as odd as it might sound, became our best friends over the years. Hell, their kids grew up with ours. And Vince – Vin – became an old friend of the family, as did John T. and Dude. Vin and Darlene manage our ranch now._

_Dude stayed __Marshall__ until he retired at 55 or so. Married a real pretty gal – you'll never guess who – not long after the big fight, and raised several kids. Stein recovered __the County Building__, and managed to win election as Sheriff handily. Wasn't hard with Munroe dead... and Stein probably made the best Sheriff __that __Sunnydale County ever had._

_The guy who won the emergency election as Mayor, after Wilkins' timely demise and Finch was taken off to be hanged, wasn't much of an improvement, but at least he wasn't a demon worshipper. You'd never guess, but little Jonathan, err, _Aaron_, Levinson won the recall election against him two years later. Made a good Mayor, too, for about three terms, I understand. And Ianara made a damned good Mrs. Mayor. (We tried to get Rory to run against him, for laughs, but Rory wasn't having any of it. Ratz.)_

_John T. was diagnosed with cancer, after a pretty full life spent with Cordelia's great aunt (great great grand mom?), Elena. (They don't always ride off into the sunset alone) He managed to go out in rare style, getting himself shot down in a gunfight in Albuquerque, N.M. - against five adversaries. He killed them all, 'natch, before they put him down. Sad, in a way, but he wouldn't have wanted to die wasting away in bed. Elena understood. So did we._

_So did Dewell MacKay, remember him? He went down in Argentina, of all places, in some little private war he got involved in back in late 1914. Settled the war, though, first... kinda permanent like._

_Rory's still as cussed as ever, even at seventy-three. Seeing as you might be familiar with your own family history, you know how all that worked out. Or you can check. We evidently formed our own family line, so it's not anything weird like you being your own great great grandpa._

_We traveled a lot after we left Sunnydale in 190__2__. Australia and New Zealand again, in 1903 and 1910. Africa__ – __several safaris and expeditions. Some of them a little __too__ entertaining, if you know what I mean. (And I'm sure you can guess.) China__ – __Hong Kong and Shang__h__ai were bizarre and wonderful. __Morocco__ was... __Morocco.__ Hell, you've seen Casablanca. __Tokyo.__ Hawaii. __Egypt. __And, of course, India. Plus the other states, including Alaska during the last gold rush._

_Not short on money, ever, and never have been, which is a good thing – what with the Great Depression coming up soon. Cordelia had/has a real good knowledge of the movie and film industry, including what studios would take off. We invested. (Heh. We're part studio owners, at least for awhile. Whoda thunk it?) Both of us had at least some idea of what industries would catch on; we invested there too. Aeronautics, Du Pont, Ford, Edison... And, if the kids are as smart as I think they are (and they are: they inherited Cordy's brains as well as her looks), they know about the computer and electronics boom coming later on._

_Heh. I have a pilots license. We both do. And our own plane(s)._

_We bought the ranch. Up in Montana. Yeah, snows awful deep there, but God is it ever pretty, winter and summer. We raise an awful lot of blooded Andalusians, Morgans, Friesians, Moriesians, and Warlanders. And Quarter Horses and some rare draft and cattle breeds. Oh, and Afghan Hounds, Rhodesian Ridgebacks, and Tibetan Mastiffs. (And a passel of yard cats.) Plus a game ranch in southwest Texas..._

_It's been... a lot better than I'd expected. Hell, better than I ever dreamed it could be. And more yet to come. As you can see from the photos, Cordy is still the most freaking gorgeous woman in the world (and no, I'm not just biased) even at forty plus. The kids are beautiful, too. And the grand kids..._

_Yeah, we miss modern medicine, television, dentistry, and all that... but surprisingly, not as much as you'd think. Hell, we have each other, and that's all we need, really._

_All right._

_One last time:_

_Hell. Like I said, love the girl. Live, travel, build things, and have adventures.__ Have kids, when it's time. __Your__ life is ahead of you, and it could be... __glorious.__ Just to let out my inner Kang a bit._

_._

_Alexander "Xander" LaVelle Harris-Chase_

_**July 17, 1926**_

_._

_P.S. If by some chance, one of your kids gets the Call (you know what I mean), shoot the first Watcher that shows up. Dead. Kill as many of them as you have to, until they get the fucking message. Unless it's Rupert Giles, in which case, just kick his ass and send him on his way._

_No little girl of mine and Cordy's is gonna go through what Buffy did. Or die young, and badly, at sixteen like Kendra._

_(Tempting to tell you to hunt down Ethan Rayne and kill him, but hell, if it wasn't for him, none of this would ever have happened for us. I owe him for some good things, now. Besides, he's probably off in Cleveland fucking with Giles.)_

_Laters._

.

Ok, and, wow. Again. He kept using that word a lot. So did Cordelia.

It fit, though. _Boy_ did it ever fit.

And, oddly, any number of parts of the letter did more to reassure him that he and Cordy hadn't had a weird, really seriously realistic dream followed by a massive hallucination and mental breakdown than anything else. Like...

His counterpart apparently didn't know that Xander and Cordelia had had their _own_ meeting with ole Two-face, and had had the sitch explained to them. More or less. Xander still figured that Janus had kept some things up his sleeve – and he had apparently – but wah. Gods. Go figger.

Counterpart, past Xander, gunfighter Xander, whatever you wanted to call him, also apparently hadn't known that Jesse was alive in this timeline. Or that Jesse and Wendie had been an item since, oh, the ninth grade. Off and on.

And et cetera, et cetera and so on.

He was still thinking about the Ethan Rayne thing. That would bear a _lot_ more thought... but hell, they had time.

"Here you go," Cordelia interrupted his train of thought by shoving her letter at him. He accepted it kind of numbly, and held his out. Cordelia waved it off a bit distractedly and said, "Hang on to that for a minute. I want to check on something... "

Xander nodded, a bit absently, reading as he stood and followed her when she got up from the couch and headed off into the ground floor study. He was still reading when she slid into the chair at the computer desk and started pulling up search engines on her dad's PC. Tazhi came trotting in, all bouncing fur and happy, toothy grin, and plopped down, looking up at them and thumping her plumy tail against the rug.

.

_Hi there, Cordy. Present and future me._

_Yes, this is you: the you who chose to be stuck back in the Dark Ages before blow driers and Gucci. Yuck. And, eww, even._

_It's not all bad, though. For one, I still have my (our) Doofus. And, there's been compensations..._

_It's been a good life so far. And more yet to come._

_First of all, if you haven't all ready: grab hold of Idiot Boy and make him yours. And keep him, dammit. He loves you, even if he hasn't figured it out yet. Gods – men are so slow, sometimes. And I know you love him, because I did._

_Have done ever since we were Princess Precious and he was our Black Knight, back in first grade. Even when I hated him. So have you._

_(I'm sure my Idiot Boy is pointing these things out to yours, with a large blunt object, if necessary. We agreed to not read each other's letters to ourselves, but hey – I know my Xander.)_

_Don't __make__ me come up there and kick your young, well toned ass. I __will__, you know._

_Ok, now that that's said, you can look at the enclosed pictures. Do that now, before you read any further. _

_Welcome back. Aren't they gorgeous?_

_Yeah yeah. Scary as all hell. You get over it. I did. Even with Chance, Mommy's Little Accident. Geeze – thought I was old enough to be past that stage. Ah well, ceste la vie._

_Reginald – Rupert Giles' great great grandfather – you'll remember him, he of the clockwork bombs and African rifle – says that the Watcher's Council can be trusted to make sure these get to the two of you when they should get there. I'm dubious of them, after seeing what they've done – or tried to do – with the Slayers that have passed through our lives..._

_But we, and Reg, have done what we could to reform things a bit, and they're not quite as bad as they were. Maybe your Buffy and Kendra will have had a better time of it. I hope so, anyway._

_It's been an interesting, and wonderful life so far, even if I do miss Women's Lib, real medicine that's not "stone knives and bear skins" as Xander puts it, computers, cell phones, Jacuzzis, and all the other nifty things. Hey – having a bit of advance knowledge does have compensations, though. You'll catch my drift when you open the "Not until Xmas" letter._

_Have your Xander let you read his letter. I'm sure mine is filling him in on events as they passed once you left and we got stuck here. (No idea how that works. Reg tried to explain it, and Xander, but I gave up after it bogged down into quantum mechanics and comic book physics. I decided to just leave it at "PFM – Pure Freaking Magic" and let it go.)_

_If you want to, you can hunt down Ethan Rayne and shoot him. Just don't get caught. Oh, yeah – we figured out what happened for certain once Reg had time to check into it and he detected a magical residue of Chaos magic around us and in our magical signatures, plus the tip off that Janus gave us. I'd say "that bastard", but then... if not for Ethan, bless his shriveled black little heart, I wouldn't have all of this._

_Still, no reason to give him any future chances at you and yours. Xander is too forgiving. We aren't._

_Speaking of Rayne... You may find that Soldier, and Hyena are coming out more now, when needed. Your Xander should be starting to reintegrate... and don't let that freak you. They're a part of Doofus, after all. And, Hyena would never hurt you any more than Xander would, ever. Soldier Guy may have fallen in love with you before Xander realized he'd fallen back in – that long ago Halloween night.(The Halloween night that never happened, for you, I guess... )_

_And both of them are pretty good to have in your corner in a pinch. A nice extra edge when it gets bad and mad and scary out._

_On what's passed... Let me just say: travel, lots of it. Africa, India, Middle East, the Orient, Australia (again and for real this time, not that before wasn't all too real), and the Continental U.S. plus Hawaii. And adventures, all too often with way too many people shooting at us. As usual. And the kids – the wonderful kids. Oh – and learning to pilot! Flying! Yay! Never would have seen myself here, but now, I'm glad I didn't._

_I would have run screaming, and I'd have missed it all._

_And don't you dare, kiddo. If you're having a panic attack right now, get over it, spank your inner moppet, and ease up. You'll regret it all your life if you don't._

_Everyone is here is good. Everyone survived, At least most of them did, up to this point. John T. and Dewell went out in blazes of glory, naturally. Idiot men. A lot of them are still our closest friends and family. Dude stayed __Marshall__ of Sunnydale until he retired, finally, in 1917 at fifty something. Good Marshall __– the __best Sunnydale ever had. He married __Buffy__'s great great grandmother – can you believe it? And Rory and Bethany and Sarah and the kids managed to hang onto the Lazy-H and built it into one of the biggest ranches in the Santa Barbara/Carpinteria/Ojai area – almost as big as Granddaddy Chase's before the government broke his land baron empire up._

_I kept __D__oofus out of the war. All three, actually, including that mess in the __Philippines__ and down in San __Juan.__ Wasn't all that hard, really – Xander says Soldier Boy saw enough __real__ war to last him several li__f__e__time__s. Plan on keeping him out of the next, also. I don't __care__ about the Hitler Time Traveler Exemption Act, or whatever it is. I'll make a trip to Germany in a few years and shoot that little __Schicklgruber__ character __myself__ as needed. As Vin's pappy always used to say, it'll all come out in the wash... And the kids too. We're making sure they learn the Wilkins Principle early. Patriotism is a truly wonderful thing – for politicians._

_No. Small and private wars only for us. Where you know who the players are, and who and what you're fighting for. And where you can make a difference. Soldiers of Misfortune... and the pay isn't always in gold._

_You can look up all the kids and grand kids later on, if you want, now that you know about them. They're probably still around and prospering. (Hey – they're ours, yours and mine. Of course they are.) They will no doubt have lots of embarrassing and entertaining stories to tell._

_I'd wait a bit until the shock wears off, though, and you get a few more years behind you so that the concept of having kids of "your own" (mine, actually) that are older than you are isn't so bad._

_But it's family. I've learned along the way just how precious that is. As Xander puts it, "All true wealth is biological." And I just know Dorkus stole that from some sci-fi novel..._

_It really is true, though._

_Gods. I have so __much__ I'd like to tell you. But it'd take a book, not a letter to do it in. I may have to write one in my, uh, copious free time. (snicker, like, yeah, I really have that. But I did start keeping a journal again while I was pregnant with Morgan. Hrmm...)_

_Check the publication lists for a tell-all autobiography by Cordelia Persephone Chase-Harris. Under "Fictional". Who knows? You might just find one..._

_Meanwhile? Live, girl. Grab the boy and screw his brains out. (You know you want to. Gods, that man can kiss.) Love him. Hell, marry him – but convince him it's his idea. And grab life with both hands and live it._

_All the misbegotten gods know I have. And will._

_._

_Yours Truly,_

_Cordelia "Cordy" Persephone Chase-Harris_

_**July 17, 192****6**_

.

_P.S. Do not __ever__ let the Watchers have a kid of yours. Ours. Whatever. Have Xander shoot them if you have to. Or do it yourself. No daughter of mine is going to die at sixteen like Kendra._

_Our__ Watchers all know better. They __are__ trainable, at least the survivors are._

.

Heh. Any Watcher that decided to give them a hassle had best be wary. Especially if they got a major case of curiosity and decided to poke too hard into finding out why the Council had sent a couple of Juniors in High School a bonded package and letters entrusted to them.

Other him had no memories to share on who this Quentin Travers might be, but he had the feeling that the High Council was full of people who weren't appreciative of simulated masturbation being used as a tool to demonstrate a flaw in their command decisions.

Wank wank. Wankers.

And the gods help them if they ever _did_ set their eyes on a kid of his and Cordy. He just didn't think the Tweedy Brigade were quite prepared for suddenly discovering they were dealing with Kid Harris and Deputy _Marshall_ Chase, rather than a couple of twenty first century Californicans. No way in hell.

That'd be a rude shock, briefly.

He doubted they'd have any idea that, thanks to Janus, Xander was not only an integrated personality... but he had the memories and skills of not only one of the premier shootists of the late, late Nineteenth century, but those of possibly the most decorated veteran of World War II as well. As Cordy had pointed out: not exactly _marketable_ skills, but... they _did_ have their advantages.

"Ok, whatcha got there?" Xander asked, finally looking over Cordy's shoulder.

"A book. At Amazon. An autobiography, actually," she said, sounding a bit distracted.

"Huh." Yup. Sure was... "And a Wikipedia entry," he said, seeing the other browser tab. "You just know you've arrived when you have a Wikipedia page."

"Yeah. It's like being in Who's Who, only, like, not," Cordelia said, "Huh. Oh, look. There's an excerpt and a sample chapter."

.

"**My life with Heroes; 1998-1947: **_**a Fictional Autobiography of Cordelia Chase-Harris**_"

Ghostwritten by Chanson L. Chase-Harris (_Formerly titled: "Heroes on Wry"_)

.

_"Of course, 'Fictional' is a relative thing. My belief is that, to misquote the immortal words of Wyatt Earp in Hollywood, it all happened just this way – give or take a lie or two... " _

– Chanson L. Chase-Harris

.

It starts where it began, in the Summer of 1898, on a hillside overlooking the join of two dusty trails down below, with a dust cloud some ways off in the distance.

Of course, it really started in the summer of 1998 in the family room of my parents home in Sunnydale, California, with a rented video tape and my husband's fixation on Western movies. Not that anyone here in 1947 would believe that – hence the "_Fictional_" in my sub-title. Well, some would, but you'll probably see them as fictional characters in my narrative. Because not many people will _want_ to believe that men like John T. Chance, Vance "Dude" Morgan, Vin Garrett, Dewell McKay, and Rory Harris really _existed_, as they actually _were_: bigger than life and twice as deadly. Not except as characters in the minds of some Hollywood script writer amid the fantasies of the West That Never Was.

Well, except that they did.

I met them, knew them, fought alongside of them. So did my Alex. They were as real as Teddy Roosevelt, Tom Mix, Wyatt Earp, and Amelia Earhart, a few _other_ larger than life people from a few years later on.

And _everyone_ believes in T.R., Tom, and Amelia...

.

She went to the check out page, after dropping two copies in her shopping cart.

"Heh. I'm impressed," Xander said, grinning. "You know your dad's credit card number by memory."

"Well, duh," Cordelia said, smirking at him over her shoulder. "You _doubted_?"

"Well, no, not really... " Xander looked at her, and asked, curiously, "So, wait for Christmas, or open the gift package?"

Cordelia nibbled at her lower lip, frowning thoughtfully. She scrunched up her nose at him, and said, "What do you think?"

"Let's table that one for now," Xander said. He did pick out the very small box, though, handing her his letter to read. As she accepted and started in on it, he opened the tiny box and grinned.

"Hey, Cordy?" Xander said. When she glanced up, he held up the antique promise rings, and raised his eyebrows. "So, can I have you?"

_Man_. Sometimes, that smile was absolutely _blinding_.

* * *

_Friday, July 31, 1898 – Morning:_

Xander Harris, excuse me, Deputy Marshall Xander Harris, looked around as he and his fiancée came down through the front entrance of the Sunnydale Arms. He gave Mr. Beauregard a slight nod, and a half smile, Cordelia next to him topping _her_ nod off with the full wattage Cordelia Chase version of the smile.

Hers was better.

But he might be just a _little_ bit biased on that.

He took a deep breath. Ah... nothing like the smell of horseshit in the morning. Xander grinned.

Oh, well. Horse crap in the streets, no real medicine yet, and a better than average chance of a young death via old bullet.

And... no Internet, no movies yet, no television, no real sci-fi, no sci-fi conventions – hey, no Jeri Ryan or Jolene Blalock yet, jeeze, _that's_ depressing – limited cars, no planes, and... The jury was still out regarding Willow, but eventually, he suspected that he could live even without her.

He looked over at Deputy Marshall Cordy, strolling along next to him.

My oh my. Black leather jeans, black leather vest, green shirt, black and green patterned bandana, cute black Stetson, long off-white coat, boots, and gun belt with two Smith & Wessons and an ivory handled bowie. And long, flowing chestnut hair, sparkling eyes, and a drilling slung over one shoulder.

He was dressed similarly, only mostly in brown, red, and browns. And his were Hamilton-Grovers, not Smith's, and his drilling was two rifle barrels over a twelve gauge.

Difference was, _she_ looked delectable and edible. He just looked kind of scruffy and mean.

And, what the hell. Screw the internet.

Just ask any guy who's ever figured out the true meaning of life. _Home_ is wherever _she_ is. Nothing else _matters_.

And they didn't get any more wonderfully, positively, absolutely, gorgeously, completely and totally _she_ than Cordelia Chase.

He _could_ live without television. Eventually, he figured that he could _probably_ live even without Willow... just so long as he had Cordy.

Xander's musings were broken by the sound of yelling and a small figure running toward them.

"Deputy Harris? A-and, Deputy Chase?" A medium height red haired girl of about their age came running up to them as they turned toward the voice. Damn. _Willow_?

No... Laurel. _Laurel_ Rosenberg. And wow, he was just _never_ gonna get used to seeing people he knew in his other life in different guises _here_.

Never gonna get old, neither.

Solves _that_ particular dilemma, anyway.

"Yeah?" Cordelia looked almost as nonplussed as he no doubt did. Fortunately, Laurel apparently took it as a result of seeing her run up to them shouting.

"You've got to come there's trouble over in tent city I mean well the shack town part you know where the Chinese section is and – "

"Whoa," Xander said. He held up a hand, palm out, and Laurel put on the brakes and verbally skidded to a screeching halt, panting for breath. "Breathe, Laurel. _Deep_ breath."

"Ok, now," Cordelia said, tossing her hair and looking amused. "Tell us what's happening. And, remember now: punctuation is your friend. And more importantly, mine."

"Ah... ok," Laurel said, after only a brief glare at the punctuation crack.

She told them, managing to hit babble mode only a few times.

Xander looked at Cordelia. She looked back. They both raised eyebrows at each other.

"Huh. What do you think, Deputy Harris?"

"Are you pondering what I'm pondering, Deputy Pinky?"

"Gee, I think so, Deputy Brain. But where will we ever get a watermelon and sixteen quarts of fifty weight at this time of night?"

Both of them slowly grinned, started to snicker, and then busted out laughing. Laurel Rosenberg stared at them like they were freaking insane.

"What the hell," Xander said, shrugging. "Can't sing, can't dance."

"Speak for yourself, Deputy Goofball," Cordelia said. He raised an eyebrow and smirked, and she flushed. "Oh, shut up. I can so sing."

"Might as well shoot," Xander said. A slow, lopsided grin spread across his lips. "Let's go round up some bad guys, Deputy Chase."

"Let's, Deputy Harris," she said, winking at him.

Xander turned to the gawping Laurel. "Lead on. We're right behind you."

* * *

.

_**~ The END ~**_

**(Maybe)**

.

* * *

**Cast of Characters:**

.

**The "Good Guys":**

Van "Dude" Morgan ... Dean Martin — Sunnydale Town Marshall

John T. Chance ... John Wayne — Gunfighter

Vince "Vin" Garrett ... Steve McQueen — Gunfighter

Jason Finney ... Walther Matthau — Deputy Town Marshall

Devlin Bishop ... Jimmy Stewart — Deputy Town Marshall

Julian Berniers ... Sidney Poitier — Deputy Town Marshall

Chollo ... Elvis Presley — Part-time Deputy Town Marshall

Brett Halliday ... James Garner — Gambler, Saloon Owner "The Paradise"

Elena Consuela Alonza de la Rosa ... Rachel Westin — Entertainer

Kevin Smith ... Kevin Kline — Gambler and Gunslinger

Glenn Scott ... Scott Glenn — Chase Ranch Foreman; Gunslinger

Alexander "Xander" Harris ... Nicholas Brendan — Gunfighter

Cordelia Chase ... Charisma Carpenter — Xander's Girlfriend/Betrothed

.

**Sunnydale Town Powers:**

Richard Wilkins I ... Harry Groener — Mayor of Sunnydale

Arthur Finch ... Jack Plotnick — Deputy Mayor of Sunnydale

Vernon Trask ... Lee van Cleef — Mayor Wilkins Executive Assistant

Dillon Marsh ... Nathan Fillion — Mayor Wilkins Executive Assistant

Gail Sheridan ... Gina Torres — Mayor Wilkins Executive Assistant

Hezekiah Trick ... K. Todd Freeman — Mayor's Aide (vampire and Gunfighter)

Lyle Gorch ... J eremy Ratchford — Gunfighter (vampire)

Tector Gorch ... James Parks — Gunfighter (vampire)

Jack O'Toole ... Channon Roe — Gunfighter

Kyle DuFours ... Eion Bailey — Gunfighter

Rhonda Kelley ... Michelle McRaine — Gunfighter

Tor Hauer ... Brian Goss — Gunfighter

Heidi Barrie ... Jennifer Sky — Gunfighter

Bob Munroe ... Brian Reddy — Sunnydale County Sheriff

Harry Stein ... James G. MacDonald — Sunnydale County Deputy Sheriff

Tom Doerner ... Chad Faust — Sunnydale County Deputy Sheriff

Shawn Hudson ... Patrick Flueger — Sunnydale County Deputy Sheriff

Dale Cobb ... Brian Dennehy — Sunnydale County Deputy Sheriff

William Statler ... Joel McCrea — Great Northern Pacific Railroad agent

Roland Phelps ... William Conrad — Pinkerton Agent

Morgan Stillwell ... Richard Boone — Owner Silverlode Mining

Josh Stillwell ... Jensen Ackles — Stillwell's youngest brother

Deke Matthews ... James Coburn — Silverlode Troubleshooter (gunslinger)

Vince Black ... Branscombe Richmond — Silverlode Troubleshooter (gunslinger)

Alex Cortland ... Lance Hendrickson — Silverlode Troubleshooter (gunslinger)

James Blaylock ... Claude Akins — Silverlode Troubleshooter (gunslinger)

Nicholas Sharp ... Jock Mahoney — Silverlode Troubleshooter (gunslinger)

Victor Maitland ... Glenn Ford — Owner Bar-G Ranch

Blake Maitland ... Jared Padalecki — Victor Maitland's oldest son

Wilson Slade ... DeForest Kelly — Bar-G Foreman

Ned Lazenby ... Brian Keith — Bar-G Ranch Manager

Bill Corby ... David Boreanez — Bar-G Drover (gunslinger)

Josiah Hedges ... Vigo Mortensen — Bar-G Drover (gunslinger)

Dewell McKay ... Alex MacArthur — Bar-G Drover (gunslinger)

**.**

**Sunnydale Townspeople:**

Rory Harris ... Powers Boothe — Owner "Lazy H" Ranch

Bethany Harris ... Beth Toussaint — Mrs. Rory Harris

Sarah Gray ... Linda Hamilton — Bethany Harris's younger sister

Randall Kaine ... Randolph Scott — Lazy-H Foreman

Linc Murdock ... Charles Bronson — Lazy-H Ramrod

Morgan Stanley Chase ... D.W. Moffett — Local Rancher Santa Ynez

Audra Barkley-Chase ... Linda Evans — Chases' wife/Cordelia's Great Grandmother

Chad Cooper ... Audie Murphy — Chase Ranch Ramrod

Jocelyn Southerland ... Kristine Sutherland — Local Restaurant Owner "Southerby's"

Laurel Rosenberg ... Alyson Hannigan — Waitress "Southerby's"

Kaye Lynne Douglas ... Jewel Staite — Waitress "Southerby's"

Jay Lee Fong ... Pat Morita — General Store owner

Kathy Lee Fong ... Chiaki Kuriyama — Jay Lee's daughter and clerk

Jin Lee Fong ... Brandon Lee — Jay Lee's son

"Doc" Jannsen ... Paul Fix — Town Doctor

Edmund Gerrold ... Jason Robards — Editor Sunnydale Tribune

Reginald Giles ... Anthony Stewart Head — School Teacher

Veronique Quezala Halliday ... Morena Baccarin — Singer, Brett Halliday's wife

Darla/Darlene ... Julie Benz — Saloon Girl (prostitute) "The Paradise"

Aurora Breckenridge ... Persia White — Saloon Girl "The Paradise"

Melody Kendall ... Mercedes McNabb — Saloon Girl "The Paradise"

Aphrodite Kingston ... Amy Chance — Saloon Girl "The Paradise"

Lisette Davis ... Nicole Prescott — Saloon Girl "The Paradise"

Eric Cord ... Lee Horsley — Local Ranch Owner

Elli Quinn ... Jane Seymour — Part Owner Sunnydale Arms hotel

Joel Haversham ... René Auberjonois — Part Owner and Manager Sunnydale Arms

Eliot Beauregard ... Robert Guillaume — Doorman, Sunnydale Arms hotel

Darrel Bellington ... Marc Gomes — Porter, Sunnydale Arms hotel

Amelia Lawson ... Sigrid Thornton — Sunnydale Bank Owner

William Gunn ... J. August Richards — Livery Stable Owner

Isabelle Taylor ... Megalyn Echikunwoke — Gunn's woman

Bianca Gunn ... Bianca Lawson — Gunn and Isabelle's adopted daughter

David Osbourne ... Seth Green — Blacksmith and Farrier

Phillip Wingersoll ... Ron Glass — Wingersoll's Emporium and Pharmacy

Reverend Jonas Hinn ... Steve Martin — Revival Preacher, Tent City

Father William ... Johnny Cash — Episcopalian Priest

Reverend John Doherty ... Clint Eastwood — Presbyterian Minister

Father Joseph Montoya ... Anthony Quinn — Abbot of the Sunnydale Mission

Father Jon Morgan ... Jimmy Smits — Priest, Sunnydale Mission

Brother David Ericksen ... Stellan Skarsgård — Piarist Priest and Teacher, Sunnydale Mission

Brother William ... Scott Michael Campbell — Monk/Friar Sunnydale Mission

* * *

.

**Afterword: That Stuff at the End - **

* * *

"_Every country in the world loved the folklore of the West__ – __the music, the dress, the excitement, everything that was associated with the opening of a new territory. It took everybody out of their own little world. The cowboy lasted a hundred years, created more songs and prose and poetry than any other folk figure. The closest thing was the Japanese samurai. Now, I wonder who'll continue it.__"_ ― John Wayne

* * *

And the obvious answer to the question in the John Wayne quote above is: _we_ will, dammit, if no one else does. Fan Fiction authors. Just like we continue everything else that we enjoy, and keep it alive and undead.

Hokay. And, damn. Long ride. Happy to see y'all stuck with me, those of you that did.

Ok. This actually started out as a blue sky idea back when I didn't have a computer of my own again, yet. I had a "what if there'd been a sequel to Rio Bravo" plot bunny, jotted down a bunch of dialogue and notes in a spiral, and set it aside. Because, after all, there's just no call for a Western fanfic. Or so I thought... and then the hook for tying it into BtVS as a crossover struck me, and hey! Rio Blanco on the Hellmouth was born.

And again, hope y'all enjoyed reading as much as I did writing. And if you _didn't_... why the hay-ull are you still _here_, anyway? Scat. ;)

Damn, but I had fun, anyway. I'm not sure if there'll ever be a sequel, even though I left lots of sequel hooks. Depends a lot on what plot bunnies bite me, and how much all my other ideas shout over them to be written. For now, I'm off to finish "And One More Thing... " and work on a couple of others. And maybe even tackle an original fic or two...

But – it's not like there's exactly a dearth of material in this genre to mine, so who knows? I still have Big Jake to play with, and both Mummy movies, and The Wind and the Lion, and then post life Xander and Cordy as agents for Janus and... well, you get the picture.

Heh. I think I stuck enough clues in the description of 1898 Sunnydale up in "Welcome Back to the Hellmouth" for the student to figure out where Lazenby was sitting with that long, scoped 1886 all that time, but just in case: he was perched up in the Standhouse water tower on The Heights. Would have been almost a fifteen hundred plus yard shot, at some points, for him to pick off Xander, but...

Just ask Nick Sharp about that possibility.

Ok. Well, now that that's all done, as promised, here's the additional credits, blamings, discredits, and various and sundry other bits of trivia I didn't wanna stack up out front.

Naturally, **"Dude" **and **John T. Chance **are lifted straight out of **Rio Bravo**. So is the briefly mentioned, late and lamented **Colorado**, played by the late and also lamented **Ricky Nelson** in the movie.

The sequel, **Rio Blanco**, is fictional and of my own invention. There _should_ have been a sequel, dammit... I mean, El Dorado was fun, but it was basically just Rio Bravo recycled with Robert Mitchum playing Dean Martin.

Speaking of, **J.P. Harrah**, as mentioned briefly in conjunction with El Dorado, is from the movie **El Dorado**, played by **Robert Mitchum**, as was the also mentioned **Mississippi**by** James Caan**.

**Rachel Westin**, Cordelia's aunt in the story here and step-grandmother back in present day Sunnydale, is fictional and my own invention. And rather _not _so loosely based on Raquel Welch, natch. Westin co-starred in the fictional sequel to Rio Bravo, as well as in a lot of other stuff... (Hey: I have a filmography and a bio for her, natch. I'm so obsessive it's not funny, jeeze.)

In a lot of cases, sharp eyed readers will have noted that there's an awful lot of people from various movies and TV shows wandering around with the names changed (to protect the guilty, natch) and their serial numbers filed off.

Not like that didn't happen in the Old West, and there's a reason for it here: I wanted to make the characters fit the _storyline_, and to give them, wherever possible, consistent and coherent background histories so I could fill in the blanks as needed for dialogue. People in the west also changed their names on occasion, and or used several in various places and times, and or reinvented themselves on occasion. It's a fine and long standing tradition.

So...

**Vince "Vin" Garrett**, as noted before, is lifted from **The Magnificent Seven**, quite possibly my major candidate for '_The_ Western', along with Rio Bravo. Vince Garrett, aka Max Sands, aka Nevada Smith, aka Josh Randall, aka Vin Tanner aka... well, let's just say he's been around a bit here and there in various guises.

I gave Dude a full name and a history, as I figured he _wasn't_ named "Dude", nor Borachon, by his momma. So he became **Vancel "Van" Morgan**, aka Dude, from his character in **Five Card Stud**. And he's probably wandered around a bit too in various guises.

Kevin Smith and Glenn Scott, naturally, are **Emmett** and **Paden** from **Silverado**, my candidate for runner up for the title of '_The_ Classic Western'. I filed the serial numbers completely off when I named them and transplanted them here, just because, well... it was fun. I kept their trademark quirks and deadpan snarker natures intact as much as possible.

"Chollo", naturally, is a youngish **Elvis Presley **from **Charro**, his only really decent movie, and, oddly enough... a Western. Fancy that.

Deke Matthews and Wilson Slade aren't based on any particular roles that **James Coburn **and **DeForest**** Kelly **played. Just on the types of characters they played all too often in various Westerns. And yes, **Doc McCoy **got his start playing bad guys on **Gunsmoke** and in various movies. Ditto for **Claude Akins **as Blaylock. Akins died at the six-gun muzzle of a lot of heroes over the years...

Likewise, **Richard Boone's **and **Glenn Ford's **characters weren't based on any particular roles. But they have played some seriously chilling bad guys over the years, and I figured that they worked as such in this.

Ditto for Dude's other deputies, Bishop, Jules, and Finney. They're just based on the types of characters that those actors played, and that you find as bit players in just about any Western. Deepest apologies for my making the immortal **Jimmy Stewart **a bit player, but there you go. Same goes for **Jason Robards** as the newspaper editor: it was the _type_ of role he did so well, but not any _particular_ role.

Brett Halliday, naturally, is a thinly disguised **Brett Maverick** Captain Ersatz, by way of **James Garner** as **Jason McCullough** aka **Latigo Smith** from **Support Your Local Sheriff** and **Support Your Local Gunfighter**. All three extremely similar characters and roles for Garner, so I kinda smerged them together and edited the back story a bit...

**Brian Keith **as **Ned Lazenby**, with that long, scope sighted Winchester... heh. Sharp eyed readers with as long and eclectic a background in Western TV as I acquired growing up, probably recognized a thinly disguised **Dave Blasingame** from **Sam ****Peckinpah's ** "**The Westerner**".

Dewell McKay, of course, is **Duell ****McCall**from the Desperado movies, as played by **Alex McArthur**. Like Keith, I tried to keep true to the _character_ even if I did file off his serial numbers.

Alex Courtland as played by **Lance Hendricks **is, naturally, lifted from Hendricks' ill fated gunfighter in **The Quick and the Dead**.

Lincoln "Linc" Murdock is a smerge of two characters played by Charles Bronson: **Link Stuart **from **Red Sun**, and **Linc Murdock **from **Guns of Diablo**. His current wife, Christina, is **Ursula****Andress**' character from **Red Sun**.

Characters with brief mentions and or cameos: **Shalako** came from the film of the same name, played by the immortal **Sean Connery**. **Lomax** comes from **The Warwagon**, as played by **Kirk Douglas**. **Heck**, as in "**Heck Ramsey**", was played by **Richard Boone **in a series of made for TV westerns. **Chad **aka **"Clint" Cooper** is **Audie Murphy **from **The Texican**. Randall Kaine is kind of a smerge of several of **Randolph Scott's **characters... Nick Sharp, played by **Jock ****Mahoney**, died off screen – but he was never a major character _or_ player, anyway. **Josiah Hedges** comes by way of **George G. Gilmore**, and I tried to stay reasonably true to the character's personae.

The Big Shooting Contest is lifted from **Jimmy Stewart**'s classic **Winchester '73**, and modified and elaborated on a bit. Ok, modified more than just "a bit."

The brief mention way back of Xander's "Uncle Frank", "Aunt Carol", and his cousins Mark, etc. are lifted from **Step by Step** with **Patrick Duffy** as **Frank Lambert** and **Susanne Somers** as **Carol Foster-Lambert**. I know Xander had a cousin Carol as shown in the BtVS season six episode "Hell's Bells", but their names being the same is merely coincidental. So I just expanded Xander's family and filled in the gaps on his mom's side. Wah. Me bad...

Naturally, all of the **Buffy the Vampire Slayer **characters in whatever names and guises they appear here, all belong to **Mutant Enemy** and **Joss Whedon **and their respective studio owners.

For anyone who objects (or objected) to my portrayal of Angel as the late and unlamented Bill Corby, well, hey – _Angel_ is currently off somewhere right now trying to adjust to his restored soul. _This_ guy is just a human wearing his face, possibly a distant relation. And my impression of Angel as the human Liam, before he was turned by Darla, was that he was a drunken, womanizing putz, anyway. One that _would_ have sired a number of illegitimate children; much to the shame of his family. And he came to a fitting end, too, IMO.

There's not a lot of song titles and lyrics lifted for chapter titles this time to credit, but for the few they is:

Chapter one is from "**Rainbow Blues**", originally by **Jethro Tull** and performed by **Blackmore's Night**. Which is also the lead in song. Chapter Eight is from "**Iris**" by the **Goo Goo Dolls**. Chapter Twenty-two is from "**The Ballad of Irving**" by **Frank Gallop**, also mentioned in the text. Chapters Twenty-nine and Thirty are from **Springsteen**'s "**Dancing in the Dark**" and "**Whatever Happened to Randolph Scott**" is by the **Statler Brothers**. Chapter Thirty-two is from "**Holding Out for a Hero**" by **Bonnie Tyler**. Chapter Thirty-three is lifted from a **Meatloaf** and **Jim Steinman** lyric from "**Bat Out of Hell**". And the closing and credits song is "**Show Me the Way**," by **Styx**, slightly filked by **Ironbear**.

Plus, I lifted so much dialogue from so many Westerns that I can't even _begin_ to claim to recall where it all came from. From down in the backwoods of the swamp that I laughingly call a mind, mostly – where everything ends up eventually. _Lots_ of dialogue from Rio Bravo, Silverado, Warwagon, Big Jake, Quigley Down Under and others. And the same thing happens with every single other writer I've ever talked trade with: everything we see, read, hear, and watch goes down into the fever swamps of our minds, gets jumbled together on spin cycle, and comes out in the wash when we write. There's a word for writers who state categorically that it don't happen to _them_ – but I'll be polite and not name it.

The "Dreaded Whole Name Complete With... " and "Ominous Punctuation of Emphasis" in "Miscellaneous is always the largest category" was courtesy of reviewer TronGod.

Finally, _just_ to round things off, of course: **Wendie Sanders** is **Charisma Carpenter**'s character from her 1994 **Baywatch** appearance as Hobie Buchannan's brief love interest. For, you know, double your hotness, double your fun. And for just becuz I could.

All that, and I even saved Jesse, too. Damn, I'm good. ;)

Whew. Lotta references. Practically need a Who's Who to keep track. Oh, wait... I just wrote one, duh. ;)

As I noted in the foreword, I took a number of liberties with firearm manufacturers and cartridges, including inventing a couple here and there. Think of Paladin's fictional "hand made Custom Hamilton revolver", deal with it, and move on. It's a cinematic universe. And, in real life, people invent new and custom cartridges all the time: it's called "Wildcatting." I've even played with it a few times myself.

I make no apologies for Xander and Cordelia being one of my favorite BtVS pairings to write. They're just... _fun_ together. And fun as all hell to write. And I make no apologies for filling in the character's back histories together by stringing together the odd bits of glimpses we got in canon, filling in blanks, and by just making up shit that sounds plausible for them. Tor Hauer and Heidi Barrie were lots of fun, too. So was Reggie Giles and his freaking clockwork bombs.

My apologies (but not many of them) to any Super!Xander! writers and lovers out there who might feel I gave short shrift to Gunfighter Xander in some places. I tend to have a hard time taking Super!Xander! with his dual Fifty Desert Eagles seriously. I also tend to at least _try_ to write real _people_ engaged in deadly violence, and real violence as best I can... and _real_ people get the funks and black studies after it's all over, overreact in the heat, get the shakes, toss their cookies at times, and sometime have a hard time in their dreams with it. And _real_ violence happens _fast_, and damned near _always_ unexpectedly, even when you're expecting it. It comes on like a thunderclap in a haze of unreality, it happens in a heartbeat and then it's _over_ and there's blood and the smell of shit everywhere – and you're suddenly left with the overwhelming WTF of "That guy was doing his level best to _kill_ me! Holy _fuck_... I'm still alive!" If you've _seen_ the elephant, you know what I mean. If you haven't... I _don't_ recommend you go out and find an elephant of your _own_. It isn't pretty, and it ain't no fun.

The PTSD sucks, too...

And in my unhumble opinion (I'm just not a humble guy), _all_ of the Buffy-verse characters are suffering from untreated PTSD by the end of Season Two, and it just gets _worse_. I don't care who you are: you just _don't_ fight in an undeclared war from the age of sixteen, and see what those kids did, and _not_. You don't stay a "kid" very long, either. You grow up _fast_, or you die.

Yeah, I know: it's cinematic violence and characters, but cinema works best when it captures a slice of life. I want my fight scenes to read like a punch in the gut. Hopefully I manage as often as not.

And Xander just ain't gonna overshadow characters like Dude, John T. Chance, and Vin. Hold his own, yes, definitely. I tried my best to capture that sense of "larger than life" here. If it _worked__ – _hey, I'm honestly thrilled. If it didn't... I _promise_ I'll do better next time.

All righty, by Jove, I think that's got it!

See you guys at my next story effort.

- Ironbear

* * *

.

_**Stay Tuned for a Thrilling Bonus Excerpt and FREE Bonus Chapter! Coming SOON from Disreputable Press!**_


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